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MY HOME IN THE 
FIELD OF MERCY 

FRANCES ^ON HUARD 




THE CHATEAU DE VILL1ERS 



MY HOME IN THE 
FIELD OF MERCY 



BY 

FRANCES WILSON HUARD 



WITH DRAWINGS BY CHARLES HUARD 




NEW YORK 
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



y* 



^ 






COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY 
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

W 10 1917 



©CIA479028 



To 

My Dear Friends 

Mr. and Mrs. David Z. Norton 

IN REMEMBRANCE OF WHOSE TRULY 

PARENTAL AFFECTION THIS BOOK 

IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED 






ILLUSTRATIONS 

The Chateau de Villiers Frontispiece 

PAGE 

In the Army Zone of France 22 v 

The Retreat from Charleroy to the Marne 44 

Amed-ben-Mohamed, Nini's Arab, who be- 
longed to our Moroccan troops 74 

Someone got news that his family had fled 
during the invasion 118' 

Not a single house had been exempt from 

SHELL-FUtE 128 

View of Soissons from the Pont de Villeneuve 142 

The College Door, Soissons 168' 

"you understand, madame, you are in the 
trenches, you are hungry, the dinner is 
late in coming" 196 

the loneliness of the roads — in peace times 
always alive with traffic and pleasure- 
CARS 214 

Entrance to the trenches near the Pont- 
Neuf, Soissons 238 v 

Calm amid the general tumult 258 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF 
MERCY 



Triumphantly we hoisted the Red Cross 
flag. George had found it and dug it out from 
beneath numerous layers of filth in the cow- 
stable, Yvonne had washed it (without soap — 
we had none) and all of us had taken turns 
coaxing it to dry so that it would float proudly 
when finally pulled to the top of the mast which 
with great difficulty had been made fast to one 
of the pinions of the chateau. 

It was no easy task this re-instating a hos- 
pital at a moment's notice. To bring order out 
of the chaos that had been wrought by the Hun, 
especially as we had neither utensils, washing 
soda nor matches, was not only fatiguing but 
at times disheartening. And it was, therefore, 
with no undue pride that we crowned our suc- 
cessful efforts by raising the banner of Mercy. 

Despair, that had seized us all on our return 
from a rather nerve racking, adventurous fort- 

en] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

night spent on the highroad as refugees, gave 
way to a mad desire to eradicate as quickly as 
possible every trace of the invader. A new life 
surged through our veins when it was an- 
nounced that the Chateau de Villiers was actu- 
ally to become a military hospital. Then we 
were really going to serve our country! At 
last! The loud and persistent rumbling of the 
none too far distant cannon told us we could 
be ready none too soon. 

Up until the moment that an officer had 
driven into the yard, and informed me the mili- 
tary authority needed my home, I must confess 
that I had viewed my situation in rather a dole- 
ful light. Ten days of superintending the 
shovelling out and burying the filth that had 
been my most cherished possessions had a bit 
unnerved me, and the very rough food we had 
to nourish us somewhat aggravated a long sus- 
pected case of appendicitis. 

In spite of my every reproof Yvonne would 
continually and audibly mourn over the wanton 
destruction of my poultry and cattle, while 
George's profane vocabulary augmented daily 
in volume and picturesqueness. As to Betsy, 
the Boston bull, she of the sugar box fame, one 
[12] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

morning she tiptoed on three legs into the 
kitchen, rolled a wistful glance over the un- 
savoury concoction with which we were essay- 
ing to remove grease from the tiled floor, gave 
one resentful sniff, and retired in high dudgeon 
to the rabbit holes in the sand quarry accom- 
panied by the old fox hound who evidently 
thought that vicinity more propitious for the 
recounting of his experiences during our ab- 
sence. 

And now I come to think of it I believe it 
was Betsy who brought to mind the fact 
that I had buried two trunkfuls of H.'s etch- 
ings and drawings. She would wander in 
each evening at dusk and begin a series of con- 
tortions on what remained of the greensward, 
trying vainly to remove the sand that had 
stuck to her eyelids and made them smart. It 
was while helping brush it away that I thought 
of the quarry. So the next morning, armed 
with the most primitive instruments (the 
Germans had appropriated everything in the 
way of farming implements ) we sallied forth in 
quest of our belongings. 

On that eventful night some four or five 
weeks since, when I had been ordered to evacu- 
[13] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

ate my home, to flee before the oncoming Ger- 
man hordes, I had taken with me Madame 
Guix, my nurse sent from Soissons in the early 
days of the war, to help establish my hospital : 
George and Leon, farm hands under military 
age: Emile, who had brought me marching 
orders: Yvonne and Nini, two youthful maid 
servants in my employ, and Julie, an older 
woman of the village who with her family had 
followed in our wake. 

At present my household was somewhat de- 
pleted. Madame Guix had remained in Rebais 
to care for the wounded : Emile and Leon had 
left us at Melun, journeying to Fontainebleau 
to enlist, and Julie, finding her own home in as 
sorry a plight as mine, was obliged to devote 
her every moment to setting it to rights. 

So now this morning it was rather a meagre 
staff that trod up the hill towards the quarry. 
There were only four of us ; Yvonne and Nini, 
George and myself. The two former mere 
children incapable of exhausting labour. 

A glance at the quarry told us that either our 

hiding place had been discovered, or others had 

had the same idea as we about burying things in 

the sand. Our curiosity stimulated, we set to 

[14] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

digging with ardour in what George indicated 
as the proper locality, I pausing only to wipe 
the beads from my brow or to remonstrate with 
George whose verbal qualifications of his hast- 
ily hand-made shovel, while novel, were hardly 
fit for our ears. 

Presently the boy plunged the spade deep 
into the moist sand, and then after a »second's 
pause during which he bent over the excava- 
tion he lifted his head and I noted that his face 
wore a queer expression. 

"Was one of those trunks we buried made of 
leather, Madame?" 

"No! Why?" 

"Hum; well I have hit something that 
resists, and don't you smell that funny odour?" 

I sniffed in that direction. A second later a 
nauseating whiff greeted my nostrils, and 
dropping my spade I jumped clear of the 
quarry bidding the others follow. The girls 
had guessed my thoughts and we stood there 
gaping at each other while uncanny ideas com- 
menced whirring through my brain. 

"George!" 

"Madame?" 

"Fill in that hole and come away at once." 
[15] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Why?" 

"Why ? Can't you see that someone is buried 
there? Be he French or German we have no 
right to be poking about in his grave." 

The boy cast another shovelful aside. 

"Have the Germans got cloven hoofs?" he 
queried. 

"No. But they ought to have." 

"And long hairy tails?" 

No longer able to restrain my curiosity I 
jumped beside the lad, cast my eyes down- 
ward, and beheld — a cow's hoof and tail pro- 
truding from the earth. 

I breathed again. Thank God, that was all. 
Much relieved I soon realised that the debris 
of the quadruped had been hastily interred 
here to prevent disease spreading, and the next 
thing to be done was to discover at just what 
angle the animal was buried, so that if possible 
the trunks might be got at by digging further 
away. Presently we had made our calculations 
and in a couple of hours' time the objects of 
our quest stood high and dry on the grass. 

George and I were not strong enough to lift 
them into our cart, so they had to be opened on 
the spot and their contents transferred to the 
[13] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

waggon. And while audibly congratulating 
the boy for having buried them so deep that no 
harm had come to the drawings, I inwardly 
berated myself for having made such hasty 
choice among them, and a big lump rose in my 
throat as I thought of all those that left in 
the studio cupboards had been destroyed or 
stolen. 

In the meantime the emblem of mercy was 
proudly waving in the wind and sunset found 
the excavating party weary and exultant, but 
having accomplished little that day towards 
the immediate installation of a hospital. 

As far as we were concerned the actual prep- 
aration for receiving wounded men was limited. 
Our task consisted in scouring the apartments 
and getting into line such of my beds as had 
been left with mattresses, and the sorting out 
of every odd and end that might be of service. 

Every sanitary arrangement had been de- 
stroyed beyond repair, likewise the electric 
light plant, the furnace and even the kitchen 
stove. The latter being of great importance, 
however, we managed to patch it up with some 
half dozen bricks and lived in the hope that we 
might be able to obtain coal. 
[17] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

In fact every turn, every step, during those 
first awful weeks had brought a surprise of one 
kind or another: some disheartening, some 
comic — the latter only when one could get 
away from the personal side of the question 
long enough to appreciate the minute and sys- 
tematic working out of minor details to make 
a campaign of frightfulness and destruction 
complete. 

It was thus when things had been prac- 
tically set to rights that I found myself won- 
dering why certain unmentionable articles of 
female attire had alone been chosen to remove 
the pot-black from the kettles employed by 
General Von Kluck's chef. One by one we 
had -fished them out with a stick from a little 
recess behind the stove, indescribable bundles 
of tattered embroidery, ribbons and filth, and 
one by one we had dropped them into the ash 
can on its way to the great gaping dunghole. 

Why not my night robes? I wondered. 
There is infinitely more cloth in them. They 
would have been far more practical for the pur- 
pose. 

The latter had disappeared en masse; not 
a vestige of them was to be found anywhere. 
[18] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

A couple of days later I had a visit from 
my neighbour Mother Poupard, who with her 
husband and two little grandsons had remained 
during the invasion. She had managed to hide 
a couple of hens under an empty barrel in her 
cellar and had come to offer me her first fresh 
eggs. I accepted gladly and we talked. 

Mother Poupard was loquacious, at times 
almost eloquent in her qualification of the in- 
vaders' actions, and when I asked her if she had 
an inkling as to what they had done with my 
missing lingerie the question brought forth a 
stream of aphorisms which bordered on the 
humorous. 

"Your nightgowns, Madame? Ah, Sainte 
Vierge Marie protect us! ah, the vandals! I 
saw them. They needn't think I didn't. I 
would like to have one of them right here this 
minute. I would make him tell you how after 
they got through washing in the river they went 
in and robbed your cupboards. All Monsieur's 
shirts first, and after that your nightgowns. 
Yes, Madame, the Lord is my witness. They 
put them on and went strutting up and down 
the village with those Irish lace collars that 
Catherine spent so much time making, hanging 
[19] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

out over their dirty uniforms. Ah, Madame, 
the pity! and when one of them came over 'To 
borrow' some brandy from Father, I up and 
said what I thought. And what do you sup- 
pose he answered?" 

"What?" 

"He came right out in French and remarked 
that it was a pity all the women in France were 
not as big as Madame so the whole German 
army could have clean shirts every week." 

I laughed. After all this was harmless 
amusement. But brawny Mother Poupard 
failed to see the humour of the situation and 
went on extolling her losses at great length, in 
fact to such length that a bit hardened by my 
experiences I fancy I lent but one ear to the 
conversation and my mind wandered to many 
little homes in the village where innocent 
women had remained and borne the brunt of 
invasion otherwise than by the loss of their 
household belongings. Alas, must war be ever 
thus. . . . 

My attention was caught anew by Mother 
Poupard's last phrase : 

"You can't trust any of them! Not even the 
best. They are all alike. Those quartered on 
f20] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

us played so nicely with little John. We had 
confidence in them. He wasn't a bit afraid. 
They took him on their knees just as they did 
me in 1870. He liked them, poor darling, he 
didn't know who they were. He used to bring 
in his toys to show them. One day he asked for 
his jack-in-the-box, the lovely one Madame 
gave him two years ago Christmas. I treas- 
ured it in the armoire; such a lovely toy, I 
used to bring it out when we had company. It 
was such a distraction. I cannot think what 
made the child want it. I had hidden it. Well, 
he went on so that finally I had to go and get 
it — it was against my will though. They put 
it on the table and Polichinelle jumped up 
and down on his long spring delighting them 
all. Then that innocent lamb in the midst of 
his excitement called out 'C'est un Boche!' 
Ah, Madame, Madame! they shook the poor 
little soul until I thought his head would drop 
off and throwing Polichinelle on the floor they 
stamped on it, all the while shouting so loud 
and so roughly and pointing to Johnny. 
What a misfortune, what a loss! such an ex- 
pensive toy!" 

How useless, I thought. 
[21] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

From what has already been said it is easy 
to perceive that prospects in general were 
scarcely encouraging, but as the fine weather 
still continued our spirits rose and our desire 
to render ourselves useful sharpened our wits 
and taught us to make the best of the situation. 
We all knew from sad experience that it might 
have been far worse. 

So arduous were our daily duties that we had 
little time for reflection, and for this I heartily 
thanked heaven. The days were beginning to 
grow shorter and shorter and I seemed to dread 
the long Autumn evenings when nothing save 
the huge open fireplace, which served at once 
as range, radiator and light, sent forth its 
kindly glow, and hushed the tongues of the 
youth clustered about it, making all the more 
solemn the booming of the great guns through 
the darkness. 

I fully realised now, what a wonderful, nay 
almost sacred thing was our confidence in our 
men, our army. For though living in total 
ignorance of what had befallen my husband, 
all of us torn by the greatest moral agony for 
those we loved, alone, unprotected, isolated 
from the entire world in the army zone of 
[22] 



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IN THE ARMY ZONE OF FRANCE 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

France, scarce a score of miles from the scenes 
of ghastly carnage — never, never for a single 
moment did we fear lest we had returned too 
soon. We seemed to know that we had come 
home for good. 

Our humble evening meal was almost invari- 
ably composed of vegetable soup and a few ripe 
grapes, the former ladled from the steaming 
kettle that hung on a tripod in the chimney. 
And then afterwards how often have I crept 
away to bed drawing a pair of damp sheets 
about me in the chill darkness of my room, 
totally indifferent to existing conditions, only 
mindful of the Kind Destiny that had so 
shaped my ends as to earn me the right to say 
"We" when speaking of the French. 

Slowly but surely things were beginning to 
get into shape. There were only a few more 
beds to be set up and the day fixed for the 
arrival of the military motor which was to 
whisk me to Rebais in quest of my nurse, was 
rapidly approaching. "A few beds to set up" 
may not mean much to the ordinary human 
being, but I assure you I quickly realised it 
was by no means a one man proposition. 
[23] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

George had promised his help but it seemed to 
me I could never put my hand on him. Just 
when I needed him most the kitchen garden 
(such of it as remained) apparently required 
his immediate attention, or else it was the 
quinces to be picked, or the mangles to be 
brought in. Always some good excuse to be 
away from the chateau a couple of hours each 
day. 

I paid little attention to the matter, but early 
one morning as I looked through the paneless 
sash of what had once been my bedroom win- 
dow and glanced down the long driveway I 
caught sight of George coming in the gate, 
heavily laden with some queer trappings and 
tenderly bearing an indistinguishable object in 
his arms. He cast a furtive glance towards 
the chateau, which aroused my curiosity, so 
I determined to question him at once, but on 
my way downstairs to breakfast my attention 
was diverted, so the morning passed and the 
matter slipped my mind. 

A moment before luncheon, however, I hap- 
pened to turn the handle of the door leading 
into what had formerly been our tool room. 
I stood spell bound at the threshold every 
[24] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

hair on my head fairly rising in terror. On the 
floor and shelves of the entire place were strewn 
unexploded shells of every kind and calibre, a 
perfect arsenal, and in the midst of it all on an 
empty upturned gasolene can sat my farm 
boy, hugging a German 77 mm. shell between 
his knees and struggling vainly to insert his 
jack-knife between its steel bindings. 

"George!" I gasped, when I had sufficiently 
recovered to find my voice. "What on earth 
are you doing?" 

"Opening a German shell." 

"But—" 

"It is the easiest thing in the world. I saw 
an artillery man at Melun do it, and yesterday 
I managed this one beautifully." 

He held up the butt of a German 77 mm. 
Visions of how we might all have been rapidly 
blown to another world through the careless 
slip of that boy's knife flitted swiftly through 
my head. 

"But it is madness, George." 

He didn't seem much impressed and while 

collecting my faculties I cast a rapid glance 

around the room. From pegs driven into the 

wall dangled military harnessings and trap- 

[25] 



♦ 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

pings of every description ; the place was a per- 
fect museum, and as I advanced towards the 
shelf beneath the window I caught sight of a 
battered can half full of what seemed to be 
dried tea leaves. 

"What's this in here?" 

"German powder." 

Ye Gods ! Residence atop an active volcano 
would surely have been as safe as was the 
Chateau de Villiers under existing circum- 
stances. I put my foot down firmly. 

"Where on earth did you get all this 
stuff?" 

"Out in the fields around here. Every boy 
in the place is making a collection but mine is 
the most complete up to date," was the proud 
reply. 

"I know, but these things don't belong to 
you. They are not even French", I retorted, 
my eyes fixed on a wheel belonging to a Ger- 
man gun carriage that had been rolled in to 
join the other trophies. 

"Don't belong to me?" the lad's eyes kindled. 

"Did anything in this place belong to them? 

No! But they took it just the same, didn't 

they? Everything that pleased them and more 

f26] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

too. So what's a handful of relics like this in 
comparison?" 

The argument was clear. There was no an- 
swer. So I entrenched myself behind the 
powder question, soundly scolding the boy for 
his imprudence, in daring to bring so much 
dangerous stuff into the house. 

"But George," I argued, "what on earth 
did you intend doing with them supposing fate 
had permitted you to open these shells un- 
harmed?" 

"Save enough powder to make a handful of 
cartridges in case I could patch up my gun, and 
then with the rest mine the gate over the moat." 

"What?" 

"Yes! Do you think I would let any Ger- 
man force me to take to the highroad a second 
time to escape him? Not much! If ever they 
were to break through and reach this place 
again they might start over our bridge, but I'll 
bet you not many of them would arrive whole 
inside the gate. I might have to go up in 
the air with them, but a hundred to one is a 
pretty good proposition." 

All this was said without the slightest trace of 
boasting either in the lad's speech or manner, 
[27] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

and proved to me how deeply even this care- 
free, lighthearted boy had been impressed by 
the savage vandalism of the Prussians. 

Gently then did I try to persuade him that 
it were better to leave such thoughts of re- 
venge in more competent hands, and I was 
about to propose that an isolated barn would 
be an excellent place for trophy museums in 
general, black powder and unexploded shells 
in particular, when a cry of joy arising from 
the kitchen sent us hurrying in that direction. 

"Madame, Madame", called Yvonne and 
Nini. "They've come back ! they've come back !" 

"Who?" 

"Emile and Leon." 

Through the doorway I caught sight of the 
two lads who had left us at Melun to enlist in 
the army. Ragged and footsore, thin as rails 
but beaming with joy at our cordial welcome, 
the tired travellers stalked in. 

"How did you come? Why didn't they take 
you? What's the latest news?" were only a 
few of the numerous questions that were hurled 
at them in a breath. 

And from their replies I gathered that they 
had been sent from Fontainebleau to Orleans 
[28] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

(at their own expense) to a recruiting station. 
Once there, so many were the applicants that 
they had to wait two days in line. Board and 
lodging had quickly consumed the meagre sum 
they possessed between them, and when finally 
their turn came they were refused because they 
had no papers, no way of identifying them- 
selves. So empty handed, they had started 
home on foot, a distance of about one hundred 
and eighty miles, and from the way they par- 
took of our dry bread and unsweetened stewed 
fruit I judged they had not fared too well dur- 
ing their hike. In the midst of their story 
which bid fair to be interminable, George car- 
ried them off to his trophy room, and through 
the partition I could hear vigorous exclama- 
tions of delight and admiration. 

The following day a member of the Engi- 
neer Corps who had been sent out to explore 
the fields and set off any unexploded shells, 
called on me and in the course of his conversa- 
tion expressed his surprise that so few projec- 
tiles had been found in our immediate vicinity. 
I smiled and led him to the old bam. 

" Je comprends" was all he said. 

I had not the heart to hand the trophies all 
[29] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

over to him without first telling George. The 
boy took the news like a man and promised to 
deliver them the following morning. And 
though I have never questioned him I have a 
feeling that years hence we will unearth in some 
obscure corner a German helmet or shell, rem- 
nants of his collector's mania. 

Nor were Teuton relics the only kind to 
be had in our neighbourhood. Every once in a 
while the boys who spent each available mo- 
ment in the garden, would come in bearing 
some souvenir of the passing Moroccan troops, 
some reminder of the British occupation. 
Among others was a package of letters mailed 
to a gunner in the Royal Artillery and found 
scattered on the floor of the greenhouse. Each 
envelope was addressed in a clear, upright fem- 
inine hand, and on the back where the flap 
closes were numerous little crosses, tokens of 
affection such as, when children, we used to 
put at the conclusion of letters to our parents. 
Poor little missives ; how had they come there ? 
Why had they not been delivered? What was 
I to do with them? 

At the extreme end of the driveway I could 
hear Johnny Poupard and his brother trotting 
[30] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

down the highroad calling "Une auto! Deux 
autos! Des officiers! They're stopping!" 

I put the letters in my apron pocket. An 
automobile? Officers? Anything come from 
the outside world was an event and was hailed 
by loud verbal acclamations from any individ- 
ual who happened to be on the spot. By the 
time I reached the gate I could see quite a 
group had gathered around four large open 
motors that were slowly winding their way 
down the village street, and two breathless 
peasant boys came running toward us. 

"They're English", they panted. "Come 
quick, do! Perhaps you can understand 
them." 

I hurried across the moat just as the motors 
pulled up to the gate. A British Captain 
jumped from the front seat. 

"Could you tell us the shortest road to 
Paris?" 

"Certainly." 

And as I explained all the officers in the cars 
sat forward in their seats at hearing their native 
tongue spoken so fluently. As I talked my 
eyes took in every detail and from their uni- 
forms I realised that I had to do with the 
[31] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

British General Staff. When I had finished 
the Captain thanked me. 

"You don't belong here, do you?" 

"Yes. I am the chatelaine' 3 

As I said this I thought how little my attire 
bore out my statement, for I was wearing a 
faded crimson sweater and a soiled velveteen 
bicycle skirt, the only things I possessed. But 
to add to my embarrassment, when I looked 
down I found that in my haste I had come out 
with a filthy dust cloth in my hand. I put it 
quickly behind my back. The Captain saw my 
movement and smiled. I smiled too. 

"You didn't stay here during the invasion?" 

"No, I managed to get away the night be- 
fore they came in." 

"I thought so. Because I was with the Brit- 
ish when they drove them out of here. It was 
pouring with rain and we hoped to find shelter 
in your house, but Lord! the filth in the 
place! We preferred sleeping in the wet. I 
see you have a hospital now." 

"No, not yet, but we are expecting one." 

"Who did the cleaning up?" 

"We did." 

"I congratulate you." 
[32] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

He might have added "You look it," but he 
was too well bred. 

"Didn't leave you much, did they?" 

"Not much, but enough to offer you gentle- 
men a cup of English tea if you don't mind the 
absence of linen." As I said that the officer in 
the further corner of the second motor removed 
his goggles and I recognised General Sir John 
French. 

"Thank you for your courtesy", he said. 
"But I fear we are a little late now. Is there 
anything we can do for you?" 

"No thank you, unless — " 

"Unless?" ' 

"Unless you would care to see that these 
letters are turned over to proper authorities", 
said I fumbling in my pocket. "I have no way 
of delivering them." 

"Certainly, with pleasure. Anything fur- 
ther?" 

"Nothing, I thank you." 

"Then, gentlemen, let us be off." 

And as the motor rolled away the General 
leaned out and called back, "Just wait until 
we get into Germany. We'll send you back 
their loot." 

[33] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

So we returned to work, encouraged by this 
little glimpse of those in whose hands lay our 
destiny. 

Another day was absorbed by my trip to 
Rebais where I sought and found my nurse, 
who had been in the city to look after the 
wounded and who had experienced many ex- 
citing adventures at the hands of the Germans 
who were in possession of that vicinity for a 
week. Our tongues wagged, as only women's 
can, all during our trip, but at dusk as we 
passed through Charly (our market town) I 
was astonished to see the red and green lights 
shining forth from our pharmacy just as in 
normal times. How strange — I thought. I 
don't believe there is a handful of people 
in the town. And what on earth has he to 
sell? 

But presently my curiosity was turned to 
practicability, and imagining that pompous old 
Monsieur Leveque had contrived in one way 
or another to put his stock beyond the reach 
of the invader I resolved to investigate as soon 
as possible in order to lay in a few necessities 
for our hospital. 

[34] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

As I approached his shop the next morning, 
I noticed that the plate glass window was one 
mass of cracks, the whole thing holding to- 
gether by long strips of adhesive plaster and 
the Grace of the Almighty. A hand printed 
sign which read as follows, was neatly pinned 
in the centre of the pane : — 

"Monsieur Le Pharmacien Leveque has the 
honour of informing his numerous customers 
that he is in measure to respond to their de- 
mands and that business will continue as usual." 

"Bon jour, Monsieur Leveque" 

"Madame, j J ai Vhonneur de vous saluer" 

"How fortunate to have been able to save 
your stock. Will you kindly give me as much 
tincture of iodine, peroxide, and absorbent cot- 
ton as you can spare?" 

"Madame, none of these articles is available 
at present." 

"Ah?" 

"No, and it may be quite a while before I 
shall be able to procure them. May I take your 
order?" 

I thanked him and shook my head. I should 
have come sooner, thought I — he has been 
bought out. I continued reading down the 
[35] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

long list Madame Guix had prepared. As I 
mentioned each and every article the old man 
waxed eloquent on the particular reason for 
which the medicament had been carried off in 
entirety. 

"Then if I were not presuming, might I 
inquire what you have 'for sale?" 

"What they left me; liver pills, Hunyadi 
Water, and a little bit of magnesia." 

I couldn't help smiling. Monsieur Leveque 
frowned. 

"But why do you bother to keep open, espe- 
cially in the evening?" 

"Because some one might need liver pills and 
Hunyadi Water and it would not be honest to 
deprive them, and besides it is the duty of 
every pharmacist to stick to his post to the 
last!" 

Evidently Monsieur Leveque had been much 
impressed by the conception of his own brav- 
ery. He had launched that long-thought-out 
finishing phrase regardless of how appropriate 
it might be. I was apparently the first one 
on whom he had occasion to try it. How 
awful should it have been wasted! I appre- 
ciated his sentiments but they did not help my 
[36] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

hospital work a bit. So during the succeed- 
ing afternoons Madame Guix and I spent 
our time driving about in our old farm cart, 
knocking at the door of every inhabited cot- 
tage begging the peasants to lend us a bed, 
a mattress, a sheet or two, if they still possessed 
any, to swell the number of patients our hos- 
pital was listed to receive. 

It was not so simple a matter as one might 
imagine, for under the circumstances, the peas- 
ant could not "give", he could only "lend"; 
in most cases the bed or its furnishings be- 
longed to a son or husband absent fighting for 
his country. Each article had to be marked 
and a form of receipt given to its owner and 
then they were carefully piled into the back 
of our trap that was drawn by my twenty-one- 
year-old nag. 

We were returning from one of these ex- 
peditions when on reaching the home road late 
one afternoon we heard the tramp of feet and 
excited voices calling; "Des Bodies! Des 
Bochesr 

Germans? Where? How? 

I whipped up Cesar and coming around the 
curve we caught sight of three German prison- 
[37] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

ers stalking down the street between our Gen- 
darmes. 

Long, lean, lank ; gaunt, graceless and glum 
— what a hideous spectacle these three defence- 
less human beings presented. One of them 
was apparently so weak that he had to be sup- 
ported by the Gendarmes and the excitement 
caused by their arrival was evidenced from the 
number of people that appeared upon the 
scene, sprung up as though by magic. Yet 
there was no noise, no confusion, much less 
hostile demonstration of any kind. They were 
a curiosity, that was all. 

"Where did you get them?" I queried of the 
Gendarme when we had come within speaking 
distance. The little column halted in front of 
a tiny grocery shop and the weak lad (he 
couldn't have been more than nineteen or 
twenty) seemed grateful for the pause. He 
was almost panting. 

The crowd gathered about them. 

"Rounded them up in the woods. They are 
scouts. Got lost during the retreat and have 
been in hiding for three weeks. God knows on 
what they have been living." 

"But one of them is very weak. Aren't you 
[38] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

afraid he will collapse before you get to 
Charly? It is three miles from here." 

The words were barely out of my mouth ere 
the pale youth lurched forward. The crowd 
parted and he sank down in a heap. 

"He has fainted", I called. "Stretch him 
out and run for some water." 

The group stood spellbound, helpless. One 
old peasant shrugged his shoulders and turning 
on his heel walked away. 

"We can't let him die like a dog, even if he 
is a German", grunted the store-keeper as she 
stepped indoors. 

"He is hungry, they're all hungry, dying of 
hunger", I explained as I elbowed my way 
through the crowd. "Here, catch hold of him, 
some one. We cannot let him lie in the dust. 
Move him indoors." 

The spell was broken. Twenty hands 
stretched forward and we lifted him onto the 
floor of the store. The proprietress came up 
with a glass of water. A moment later some 
one had brought in a flask of brandy. 

"I'll take care of this one, but how about the 
other two?" 

The women looked askance at each other. 
[39] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Tant pis! 'tfy vais 3 \ said one, and the 
store-keeper echoed her sentiments. A second 
later she appeared with a steaming bowl in her 
hands. 

Heaven knows it was little enough she had 
to offer; a plate of soup and a crust of bread, 
but as long as I live I shall never forget the 
light in those men's eyes when the great nine 
pound loaf was placed on to the table. Pray 
God I may never see it again. They fell to 
with a greed that was appalling, even the weak 
one. The very smell of the soup seemed to 
revive them. 

When I felt they were a bit restored, I put 
a few questions in broken German. 

"Not Prussians! Not Prussians!", they 
fairly shouted in chorus. "Bavarians!" 

I wonder what particular torture they 
thought we held in store for their compatriots 
of the North. From a word now and then I 
gathered we had guessed correctly. They had 
got lost during retreat and had been in hiding 
for three weeks, eating only raw beets and 
turnips, licking the dew from the leaves to 
quench their thirst. 

By the time the soup had disappeared, boiled 
[40 1 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

potatoes, baked apples and a bottle of white 
wine had been brought in, and I left them to the 
tender mercies of the Gendarmes who for once 
fell short of their reputation for severity. 

"Don't ever let Poupard know I brought 
that wine", whispered Mother P. as together 
we walked homeward. "I'd never hear the end 
of it. But our boy's out there righting too and 
I couldn't bear to think he'd ever come to want 
because he was an enemy." 



[41] 



II 

On the fifteenth day of October, at a little 
after eleven in the morning an army supply 
waggon with tightly drawn and buckled cur- 
tains rattled down the main street of Villiers 
and drew up in front of the chateau. The noise 
and the large red cross painted on either side 
of the cover, attracted the attention of a score 
of peasant women, who imagining the wounded 
were arriving at our hospital, hastened down 
the street and stood gaping in the roadway 
awaiting the pleasure of a red-headed driver 
who calmly prepared to leave his seat and make 
known the contents of his cart. 

By the time I had come downstairs and 
gained the entrance hall excitement had 
reached concert pitch, and when I stepped out- 
doors I was confronted by an awe stricken 
group of people silently elbowing each other 
and craning their necks to get a better view. 

The driver leisurely rolled up his sleeves, 
moistened his hands in a most inelegant 
manner, parted the curtains and disclosed four 
[42] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

wooden boxes containing pharmaceutical sup- 
plies and a half dozen soldiers knapsacks. 
That was all. 

Disappointment was audibly expressed and 
he of the fiery whiskers after having calmly de- 
posited his goods on the lowest step was mak- 
ing ready for immediate departure when I ac- 
costed him. 

"I say driver, are the wounded on the way?" 

"What wounded?" 

"The men to whom those sacks belong. The 
soldiers we are expecting." 

"Don't ask me, how should I know?" 

"But I thought perhaps — " 

He interrupted me. 

"In my metier what's the use of thinking? 
None ! You do what you're told, un point, c'est 
toutr 

But evidently his metier had nothing to do 
with bridling of vocabulary, and my questions 
had set him going. A good quarter of an hour 
later I left him in the midst of a dissertation on 
military grandeur and servitude, and the dis- 
appointed peasants were surely well repaid for 
their trouble if words count for aught. 

His eloquence was interrupted by the even 
[43] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

tramp of feet and hastily buttoning his coat he 
whipped up his nags and departed just as some 
soldiers headed by a Sergeant turned into the 
drive. This time it was the real thing, and 
from an upper window I watched Madame 
Guix greet our Sergeant-Inflrmier and his four 
assistants. 

They certainly were a weird looking quintet : 
beginning with Sergeant Godec himself, 
round ruddy, middle-aged, almost bursting in 
his uniform, his well waxed mustache giving 
his face the appearance of bristling with im- 
portance. 

He drew his men up to "Attention" with a 
voice that could have been heard above the roar 
of a dozen nearby guns, and then saluting my 
nurse awaited her orders. A second later, 
"Break ranks", he shouted in stentorian tones. 
The command was hardly necessary for even at 
"Attention" the quartet of men from the 
"Service Auxiliare" was the most unmilitary 
looking unit I had ever perceived, in fact as I 
gazed at them I could not repress a smile. 

On one end stood a great, gaping blonde 
headed fellow, his hands which strangely re- 
sembled shoulders of mutton hanging at his 
[44] 



^;'* "" : 4i*' 




P^f! 



' ""\i-2 




THE RETREAT FROM CHARLEROT TO THE MARNE 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

sides, his mouth open, his eyes vacantly star- 
ing at six columns of smoke that were rising 
from as many chimneys of the chateau. Next 
to him was a dark, tight featured peasant 
whose ambling gait had attracted my attention 
as he slouched rather than walked up the 
avenue. In fact one could not tell whether he 
was tall or short so elastic were his move- 
ments. 

Third from the end was a genial looking chap 
with clear blue eyes and a kindly smile, and last 
but not least, was a nervous little fellow who 
was struggling with innumerable packages 
that were hung about his person with several 
different bits of string. Every movement he 
made to disentangle himself only complicated 
the situation which was already none too simple 
when one considers that he was terribly near 
sighted, and the perspiration which trickled 
from his nose made the latter so slippery that it 
refused to hold a pair of gold circled pince-nez 
that were attached by a flowing gros grain 
ribbon. 

After a moment's parley the whole group 
moved towards the refectory where they 
quickly made acquaintance with George and 
[45] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Leon who showed them to their quarters and 
bid them make ready for luncheon which was 
but half an hour distant : it was useless to think 
of beginning any new job before. 

During our meal my nurse and I made ver- 
bal note of all the tasks which needed masculine 
attention and decided that we would commence 
by scraping and polishing the floor of one of 
the wards where our feeble efforts had as yet 
been unsuccessful. We lingered a trifle longer 
than usual over our brief repast to give the men 
time to get accustomed to their new surround- 
ings and at one o'clock sharp Madame Guix 
departed to give her orders. It seemed to me 
I had hardly had time to fold my serviette ere 
she reappeared out of breath with eyes as big 
as two franc pieces. 

"Madame Huard, they've gone!" 

"Who?" 

"The soldiers!" 

"What nonsense. Gone where?" 

"Disappeared, evaporated! I can't find a 
trace of them." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I am not joking, I have looked all over for 
them." 

[46] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 



"Did you ask Julie?" 

"Yes, she says they bolted their luncheon 
and then followed George and Leon out 
toward the barn. That's the last anyone saw of 
them. They're not there now, I have just come 
from there." 

"Well, don't let's worry, they will turn up in 
a few minutes. If they don't we'll ring the 
farm bell for our boys." 

A quarter, then half an hour slipped by as we 
busied ourselves around the house, and at ten 
minutes before two when I looked at my watch 
no soldiers had yet reported for duty. 

The farm bell was rung, the emergency call, 
but as Nini pulled it I observed that the wind 
was due East, in consequence carrying the 
sound away from our property. 

To organize a searching party in quest of 
five soldiers and a couple of farm boys, lost in 
some of the numerous buildings dotted all over 
my one hundred and eighty acres of ground, 
would not only have been fatiguing, but ludi- 
crous. That idea was abandoned at once, and 
I sent Nini on a bicycle down as far as the vil- 
lage cafe to inquire if they had seen anything 
of my boys. The idea that perhaps they had 
[47] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

all decided to clinch their friendship in a drop 
of wine seemed feasible. 

Nini returned with a negative reply. 

Madame Guix and I looked askance of one 
another and then laughed. The situation was 
too ridiculous. 

We went to work on our floor and so earnest 
were we that the short afternoon wore away in 
no time, and at half past four we had forgotten 
that the chateau had once been the proud pos- 
sessor of four orderlies and a sergeant. 

We were mopping our brows and taking a 
second's breathing space when Nini, whom I 
had sent to Tresnel in search of a few fresh 
eggs, broke in upon us, all excitement. 

"Madame — Madame Guix — the soldiers — 
George and Leon — they're all up on the hill 
bagging rabbits. I saw them as I passed from 
the road, and on my way home Father Pou- 
pard came out of his yard grumbling about its 
getting dark and it was time they brought back 
his ferret." 

I sat down on a chair and laughed until I 
cried. Here were five serious minded orderlies 
sent out to prepare beds for their suffering fel- 
low men and the idea of a rabbit hunt, "La 
[48] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 



chasse" so dear to the heart of Frenchmen 
had completely obliterated all conception of 
war, militarism and duty. Even the prospect 
of ten days in the guard-house apparently held 
no terrors. It was so human that it was 
really pathetic. But my companion whose legs 
and arms must have ached as did mine from our 
exhausting labor, did not see the amusing side 
of the situation. After wiping her face and 
straightening her cap she left the room and a 
second later I could hear her footsteps crushing 
the dead leaves in the long alley leading 
towards the rond-point. 

I followed in her wake, but stopped when I 
saw that she had come up with the hunting 
party, triumphantly returning home with the 
spoils of their afternoon wriggling in two 
laundry bags. 

Madame Guix took the sergeant aside. I 
was beyond earshot, so what she said to him I 
never heard. He hung his head and looked 
very sheepish all the while. A moment later 
he called his men to "Attention" and then man- 
like proceeded to wreak on them the vengeance 
that had just fallen to his lot. 

Twenty minutes later there was such a 
[49] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

grating and scraping in that ward that I feared 
lest nothing of the floor be left to polish, and 
poking my head in I caught sight of Sergeant 
Godec in the middle of the room a long lithe 
branch in his hand, proudly surveying his men- 
ials, who on their knees were humbly obeying 
his orders to scrape "Tons ensemble et en 
mesure" , under penalty of having the military 
code as constant diet for the next w T eek to come. 

Supper was a mute meal and the entire 
Corps d'infirmiers instead of retiring at once 
burned much of my precious kerosene appar- 
ently applying themselves to some arduous 
task that was accomplished by the aid of pen, 
ink and paper on the long table in the refectory. 

At nine o'clock we rang Le coucher and 
five minutes later the only sound that broke the 
complete silence of the night was the screeching 
of an owl and now and again the booming of a 
distant gun. 

The next morning I discovered that every 
corridor in the entire chateau had blossomed 
forth with the intricately printed signs stating 
distances and directions and forbidding every- 
thing under the sun. Defense de ftdner dans 
ce couloir — Defense de cracker par terre — 
[50] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 



Heures des repas—Reglement de la chambre 
— Enough rules to make any sick man want to 
lie down and die at once. All of which had 
been carefully compiled by Sergeant Godec 
and faithfully executed by his slaves who had 
been so lax as to have nearly permitted him to 
fall from grace. 

A telephone call from Headquarters at Cha- 
teau-Thierry announced that ten occupants for 
our beds would come down by a military train 
as far as our station, from whence the supply 
waggon would transport all it could hold to our 
door, making as many trips as necessary unless 
I had some means of conveyance to offer. 
There had been some difficulty in finding a 
doctor — they hoped to have one on the way by 
the time the men arrived. 

Here was news indeed, and when I an- 
nounced that our battered coupe would be sent 
down to Nogent to bring up the men, George 
and Leon nearly came to blows trying to de- 
cide who should have the honour of driving the 
first load. 

And so they arrived; six in the van, four in 
the coupe. 

[51] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

It was something of a disappointment and a 
great relief to find that they were not wounded 
heroes. Illness was much less appalling under 
the circumstances. Some were coughing, some 
limping with rheumatism, while others showed 
no external signs of malady other than a 
strange brightness in the eyes, a dark furrow on 
their cheeks. 

For a second they stood there helpless in the 
marble paved vestibule, tenderly clinging to 
their guns and cartridge cases as though loathe 
to give them up, their mud-stained uniforms 
and boots sadly betokening their inability to do 
anything that required a physical effort. 

We quickly put them at ease, leading them 
into the drawing-room, converted into a ward, 
where a cheerful fire welcomed them to its 
hearth. They clustered about it and willingly 
drank long draughts of linden flower tea, yet 
even the warmth and soothing beverage did not 
loosen their tongues. I was at loss to know 
what to do to cheer them. 

Presently the sergeant appeared, pen in 
hand, and one or two made an effort to strug- 
gle into line. I said it was not necessary and 
he proceeded to take the names, addresses, regi- 
[52] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

ment numbers, etc., terminating with the illness 
for which they had been evacuated. These pro- 
ceedings brought to light the fact that my 
guests were almost all from the northwestern 
part of France, country then, as now, in the 
hands of the enemy. And their illnesses 
proved to be rheumatism, asthma, bronchitis, 
dysentery. Apparently none of these was 
chronic, but in the absence of any medical 
authority Madame Guix and I decided that 
bath and bed were very good prescriptions on 
general principle, and in spite of several looks 
of protest, the order was given and the sergeant 
stayed to see that it was executed. 

An hour later a double row of mummies 
lined my drawing-room and as I entered I 
heard an exclamation that went straight to my 
heart — 

"O, God! no draughts and a real hot water 
bottle!" 

Orders were given that no one was to get up 
until after inspection the following morning, 
and when I made my appearance I found the 
infirmiers hurrying through the corridors 
bearing bread, butter and hot coffee on impro- 
vised trays. Their fatigue costume was the 
[53] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

funniest thing imaginable, for having cast aside 
their long military top-coats and boots, they 
had donned the queerest looking civilian togs 
which together with the red trousers of their 
uniforms made their appearance most ludi- 
crous. 

The man with the goldrimmed glasses who 
caused me so much amusement on his arrival 
was certainly a poem to behold. He had re- 
placed his army jacket by a long-tailed, shiny 
seamed, black frock coat buttoned right tight 
up to his neck, around which was tied a varie- 
gated bandanna handkerchief. The dark blue 
bonnet de police tipped jauntily over one 
ear, a pair of soiled white canvas sneakers and 
a checked gingham apron completed this 
extraordinary costume. 

"Ohe — la petite Jaquette" , called one of the 
patients, beckoning him as he entered the room. 

"Oui, c'est cat la petite jaquette" called all 
the others quick to grasp the humour of the sit- 
uation. 

It was thus he was christened, and "Petite 
Jaquette" he remained as long as he was with 
us. In fact no one ever realized he had an- 
other name. 

[54] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Breakfast disposed of, the sergeant pre- 
sented me with the first daily bulletin, a master- 
piece of penmanship and rhetoric, which in- 
formed me that we had eleven patients and 
three orderlies. I lifted my eyes in inquiry. 

"Quite correct, Madame", was the immedi- 
ate reply. 

"But your fourth man seemed all right yes- 
terday." 

"He was. But this morning he cannot get 
out of bed. He has got bad varicose veins." 

"I understand, overwork no doubt?" said I 
glancing at the smoothly polished floor. 

"Quite correct, Madame," was the rigid 
reply. 

What an excellent beginning — thought I — 
especially as we have no doctor ; and what was 
more, no way of ascertaining how soon one 
would appear. Headquarters could communi- 
cate with us by telephone, but as we had no 
officers as yet, we had no authority to com- 
municate with them. 

By ten o'clock the men were clamouring to 

get up, and since they felt so inclined we saw no 

reason why they should be made miserable. 

So all save two who had a slight temperature 

[55] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

arose and after carefully shaking up and mak- 
ing their beds gazed wistfully out of the win- 
dow onto a cold drizzling rain that had set in. 
I quickly provided pen, ink and paper of which 
I had been fortunate enough to procure a stock 
while in Rebais, and manna in the desert was 
certainly not received more gratefully. Each 
one seized this first opportunity to send his 
exact address to loved ones behind the lines ; to 
say that it was Rien de grave that had brought 
him for a moment's respite beyond the reach of 
the enemy's guns. 

It was during that first morning that I re- 
ceived a visit from an inspection officer, who 
seeing our hospital flag came in for a word with 
the "Medecin-Chef". Great was his astonish- 
ment when I informed him that we had none, 
in spite of the fact that ten beds were already 
occupied. From his attitude I could see that 
trouble was brewing. 

"There must be an error", he explained. 
"Those men were never destined for you; it 
would be far better to send them further on to 
another hospital. I will go down to the sta- 
tion and make arrangements to have the cart 
come and get them at once unless we can make 
[56] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

arrangements to get a doctor in here by night- 
fall; headquarters has blundered. It is 
nothing." And noting all this in a small leather 
book he departed leaving me feeling decidedly 
uncomfortable. 

Visions of my hospital being closed through 
misunderstanding; of these poor tired fellows 
being jogged in another direction just as they 
thought they were going to get a little rest, 
kindled my anger and made me resolved to find 
the doctor before nightfall or perish in the at- 
tempt. 

I took Madame Guix into my confidence and 
we decided to alarm no one but quickly make 
our resolutions and act on them immediately. 
The telephone was useless. Communication 
with headquarters would only lead to complica- 
tions. There were just two courses left. One 
was to drive to La-Ferte-sous-Jouarre, twelve 
miles south where I knew there was a big san- 
itary formation, already full to overflowing, so 
there was no danger of their wanting our men. 
But here we could get a doctor who might pos- 
sibly consent to pay the necessary visit, thereby 
proving our efficiency, saving the situation, and 
giving Headquarters time to redeem itself. 
[57] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

The second plan was to go down to Charly 
and throw ourselves on the mercy of an elderly 
civilian doctor, the avowed enemy of the 
medecin militaire who had been left with 
no less than fifty-four townships to look after 
through the mobilising of his confreres. He 
spent most of his time, therefore, on the high- 
road drawn by a knock-kneed, bony old horse 
in the only conveyance the military requisitions 
had left him — a queer high-wheeled buggy that 
could be heard rattling miles off. 

Madame Guix chose the mission to La Ferte, 
and she and George departed in one direc- 
tion with old Cesar, leaving me to tramp down 
to Charly in a weird frame of mind. It was 
rather a delicate thing to ask a favour of this 
tired old physician whom up to now I had ig- 
nored, giving preference to a much younger 
and more brilliant colleague every time I had 
had need of medical assistance before the war. 
Doctor Veru had little by little lost his practice 
and until August, 1914, spent most of his de- 
clining years compiling a literary masterpiece 
which was destined to refute a much talked of 
thesis on the folly of our Lord Jesus Christ. 
Doubt seized me as I rang his bell. I stood 
[58] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

little or no chance of finding him home. I 
stammered something to Madame Veru who 
opened the door and didn't seem the least sur- 
prised at my visit. Yes, the doctor was visible ; 
would be down in just a moment. 

My story was brief and I was most fortunate 
in finding the doctor in excellent humour. He 
not only saw my embarrassment but was so 
anxious to save me any further ennui that half 
an hour later found us in my drawing-room 
with my shirtless patients standing at the foot 
of their beds awaiting medical inspection. 

"Nothing really serious, Madame," was the 
verdict he pronounced. "A little cupping, 
some tincture of iodine, and plenty of rest." 
The sergeant had taken notes. 

"No special diet, doctor?" 

"Plenty of clean, wholesome food, that's all. 
I will call to-morrow and see if anything has 
developed. Good-bye, Madame." 

I tried to thank him but he turned a deaf ear. 
I stood on the door sill watching him drive 
away, and by the time he turned the corner a 
military motor with Madame Guix in the seat 
of honour swung into the yard. Then she 
too had been successful ! 

[59] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

I dashed indoors calling loudly for the ser- 
geant. He appeared. 

"Tell your men if they want to stay here, to 
make ready for medical inspection and to hold 
their tongues ! Vite, viteT I called. 

The fellow looked at nie as though I had sud- 
denly lost my mind. 

"Do what I tell you and lose no time. Here 
comes the military doctor." The sergeant 
vanished. Since this man had taken the trouble 
to come all that distance, what was the use of 
quenching his enthusiasm, and seeming un- 
grateful? 

A stout middle-aged major entered the ves- 
tibule, greeted me politely and proceeded at 
once to the ward, where once again our "poilus" 
patiently endured the ordeal of thumping and 
listening, not a murmur rising from a single 
mouth. 

The sergeant followed in the Major's wake, 
and Madame Guix gave every attention to in- 
structions. 

"Ilien de grave. Paint them with iodine, one 

or two poultices, and give them plenty to build 

them up; I'll come back day after to-morrow 

unless you advise me to the contrary," and he 

[60] 



MY HOME IX THE FIELD OF MERCY 



proceeded to sign a sheet which Godec held out 
to him attesting his visit. 

It was scarcely a half hour since Doctor 
Veru had pronounced the selfsame words and 
signed identically the same paper, yet not a 
person in the room winked an eyelid though I 
am sure more than I appreciated the comedy. 

I accompanied the Major to the door and 
had barely seen him out ere Nini announced 
that two officers were waiting for me in my 
office. 

"We are the doctor and the pharmacist sent 
to take charge of your hospital." 

"Poor patients," I gasped, mentally, as the 
idea of a third inspection raced through my 
brain. 

"Certainly, gentlemen," I said, "won't you 
be seated? I am delighted to welcome you, I 
am sure." 

Someone rapped on the door. 

"Come in," I called. Sergeant Godec en- 
tered and saluted. 

"Madame, the inspector is outside. He says 
he has made all arrangements. . . . " 

"You show the inspector your two signed 
sheets," I cut in. "And if he wants any further 
[61] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

information tell him to ask for an appointment 
with the Medecin-Chef who has taken over 
authority here. Otherwise we will consider the 
incident closed." 

The morrow brought another ten men to 
Annexe No. 7, and Sunday night found the 
downstairs wards almost completely full. Our 
patients were all men of the younger classes 
who had seen the retreat from Charleroi to the 
Marne; the advance from the Marne to the 
Aisne, and were most of them suffering from 
physical breakdowns. Three days, however, 
had done much towards making the lads feel 
that ours was a home rather than a hospital, 
and evening inspection became more a moment 
to be looked forward to than dreaded. I used 
up pints of iodine painting chests, pounds of 
flax-seed making poultices, and the quantity 
of tizane that was absorbed without a mur- 
mur was most astonishing. 

Our most genial inmate was a blondheaded 
miner from the North quickly nicknamed 
"Chou" or "Chou-Chou" and our treatment for 
his little hacking cough was a source of amuse- 
ment to his entire ward, all of whom were 
[62] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

simple peasants who had never before had need 
of care. The doctor had ordered cupping, both 
on his chest and back, and as we had no regular 
glasses, we were obliged to use thick kitchen 
tumblers. The boys clustered around Chou's 
bed to watch Madame Guix whisk the little 
pieces of ignited cotton into the glass which was 
promptly placed on the skin. Chou didn't 
mind it a bit ; in fact he used to grin and treat 
the whole thing as a partie de plaisir beg- 
ging encore un! encore unl 

The remedy not producing the desired effect 
as rapidly as desired we were ordered to double 
the dose and let the cups remain on longer. So 
next evening we commenced our rounds by 
Chou's bed and when we had visited the entire 
wards, returned to him to remove his ven- 
touses, only to find that he had calmly fallen 
asleep ; dozed off with twenty cups drawing the 
blood to the surface of his skin for nearly half 
an hour. And what is still more astonishing is 
the fact that we raised him up and removed 
them all without his ever opening his eyes. 

Monday morning brought consternation in 
the kitchen for the amount of meat required 
[63] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

staggered the two country butchers who had 
guaranteed to scour the neighbourhood and 
furnish us with what we desired. As to the veg- 
etables, well, our meagre staff which had been 
swelled by volunteers from among the village 
women, peeled and peeled and continued 
peeling, it seemed to me that they had never 
finished. 

A glance at the refectory told of the fam- 
ished condition of our patients, for Sergeant 
Godec had been obliged to pin up signs which 
read as follows: 

Don't be greedy. The dish will be 
passed twice. the first served kindly re- 
member there are thirty-four others to 

BE FED. 

Poor lads my only worry was that we out- 
stretch our credit, for the Government allowed 
us but thirty-six cents a day per man, and my 
bank account was closed up tight at the Credit 
Lyonnais, in Paris. 

At first I refrained from visiting the refec- 
tory during mealtime for fear of intimidating 
the boys, but the peals of laughter and shouts 
of joy that arose from that direction were so 
[64] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

enticing that the third day I could no longer 
resist and arrived just as Yvonne placed a 
huge steaming platter of stew in front of Ser- 
geant Godec. His neighbour leaned towards 
him, sniffed the appetising aroma, then turning 
towards his comrades exclaimed with a strange 
huskiness in his voice — 

"Boys— it's veal! ! !" 

And two great tears of joy sprang from 
his eyes and trickled down his sunburned 
cheeks. My own grew misty as I turned 
away. 

We had been running on thus for about a 
fortnight without anything new or startling 
having occurred. All Saints' Day came and 
went, followed by All Souls' Day, "le jour des 
morts!' It had dawned in a most depressing 
fashion with rain tinkling against the paper 
that replaced our window panes, and the 
mournful tolling of the church bells in memory 
of the Faithful Departed aggravated my every 
doubt. Alas, there were so many to pray for 
this year, and who could tell what another day 
might bring forth. 

It was a positive relief when the bell rang 
for supper, and I could hear the joyful voices 
[65] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

calling through the corridors : "La soupe! La 
sowpe! Vive la soupe!" 

My nurse and I were resting a moment be- 
fore our own meal, silently meditating in front 
of the fire. Our reverie was short lived, how- 
ever, for someone knocked at the door and an- 
nounced that the widow X — from the Black 
Farm was downstairs and wanted to see me. 
It was urgent. 

I knew of many but could think of no press- 
ing reasons why the woman should demand me. 
I had seen neither her nor her ten year old 
daughter since our return after the invasion. 
Perhaps she was short of funds. Madame 
Guix said she would go and attend to the 
matter. 

As I passed my office on the way to supper 
a sob attracted my attention and as I opened 
the door I could hear Madame Guix saying, 
"There, there, I am sure he'll go." 

The haggard looking woman hastily brushed 
the tears from her eyes and stood up. 

"She says her little daughter is ill; has been 
for some time. Wants to know if our doctor 
won't go and see her." 

"What's the trouble with her?" I asked. 
[66] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

This brought forth new tears. 

"I don't know — I don't know," sobbed the 
woman. "O, do come, do come!" 

Already well acquainted with the primitive 
methods of caring for the ill still so prevalent 
among the peasants in this particular district ; 
realising that often for economy's sake med- 
ical assistance was not summoned until too late 
to be of any use, I judged that this case must 
indeed be urgent. 

I sought out our doctor and laid the matter 
before him. He expressed his willingness to 
make the visit, and the woman having refused 
our offer of something hot to stimulate her, 
patiently waited until we had finished our even- 
ing meal. Then the four of us set out together, 
leaving the pharmacist in charge of the hos- 
pital. 

What a wild night it was. The wind howled 
most dismally through the pine trees and drove 
the rain in sheets against our faces. We chose 
a short cut down our avenue, and as we 
plodded along through the layers of moist 
leaves each footstep added another noise to the 
tempest. There were moments when it was 
hard to tell whether it were guns or thunder 
[67] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

that rent the air, and as now and again we 
would emerge into the open, I fancied I saw 
lightning — or was it the flash of distant search- 
lights seeking out enemy's aeroplanes ? 

At the little iron gate which marks the ex- 
treme limit of our property, we clustered to- 
gether and I held the lantern closer to enable 
my nurse to better insert the key. A tremen- 
dous gust of wind that sent the frightened 
night-birds screaming from their perches, blew 
out the light and left us in total darkness. We 
were now nearly a mile from the house ; it was 
useless to think of retracing our steps. To try 
to light a match was hopeless. There was 
nothing to do but continue. 

What a mad, ghastly tramp we had, our 
doctor, Madame Guix and myself, following in 
the path of that sorrow stricken mother, slip- 
ping and sliding on the steep inclines, the noise 
about us such as to make one wonder whether 
God or man were not doing their utmost to 
shatter poor old mother earth. 

After nearly an hour's climb, puffing and 

panting, dripping with rain and perspiration 

we finally reached an isolated farmhouse. Our 

guide entered first and we followed close be- 

[68] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

hind to see an old white-bonneted peasant 
woman crouching in the corner of the hearth, 
her face lighted by the glow of the dying 
embers. 

"Mother, he's come", said Madame X — 
rousing the dozing figure. 

"God be praised, God be praised", mumbled 
the little old woman bustling about to light a 
candle. 

"Where is the child?" asked the doctor after 
having removed his raincoat that had covered 
his uniform. 

He followed the woman to a doorway and 
over his shoulder I could see stretched out on 
a humble bed a puny, emaciated child. Surely 
her visage was familiar. Of course I knew 
her! She had been in my catechism class that 
year and had made her First Communion in 
June. Could it be possible? What a change 
had come over her! The mother bent over 
her and gently called "Elvire, ElvL-e". At the 
touch of her hand the child started and shiv- 
ered. 

"Elvire," called the woman, "here's the doc- 
tor and Madame Huard. They've come to see 
you." 

[69] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

The girl cast a glance in our direction, her 
eyes falling on the doctor in uniform who stood 
nearest her. With a wild yell she caught at the 
covers and in one bound was in the other corner 
of the room. 

"I am afraid! I am afraid!" she shrieked. 
"Don't come near me! don't, don't!" Her 
little body was quaking, tortured by her spirit. 

The old grandmother darted into the room 
and seizing the doctor by the arm motioned 
him to come away. 

"Elvire," pleaded the broken-hearted mother, 
"Elvire, he's gone." 

"But he'll come back! no! no! I'm afraid, no, 
don't let him come, don't let him touch me." 

"Elvire," I called, my voice shaking with 
horror and emotion. "Elvire, don't you re- 
member me? Surely — Madame Huard? 
Don't you remember how we used to sing to- 
gether last Spring." 

A queer choking sound cr,me from her 
throat. Her eyes softened but no tears came. 
There were none left. 

Then followed the hardest moral struggle I 
ever hope to experience; a full half hour in 
which I sought to convince this little fear- 
[70] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

cowed animal of my integrity. And when at 
last I held that tiny heaving body against my 
breast, saw the eyes close peacefully, I knew 
that I had won a victory. 

Elvire slept, slept for the first time since the 
fifth of September. We had already guessed 
the woeful truth but to corroborate our direst 
suppositions, the tales of German cowardice 
and brutality that mid tears and lamentations 
we wrung from those grief -bowed peasant 
women made me feel that war might pass and 
peace might come again, but I could never 
pardon. 



[71] 



Ill 



"Foukteen more soldiers and an Arab", 
announced Nini as she pushed open the 
shutters and prepared to pour the steaming 
water into my improvised bath-tub. I rubbed 
my eyes. What was the child saying? 

"Oui, Madame — fourteen more soldiers, and 
such a lovely Arab — he's got the military medal 
too." 

"When did they come, why didn't you wake 
me, you knew" — 

"They got here about five o'clock. The 
Doctor gave orders not to disturb anyone. 
They're almost all bathed.now." 

Fourteen more, that made forty-four, and 
already the butchers had encountered difficulty 
in providing sufficient meat for thirty ! 

At breakfast which consisted of coffee and 
bread, the latter held on a long twig before the 
flame of our dining room fire if we wished it 
toasted — the doctor confirmed Nini's report. 

There was no question of taking time even 
to say a word of welcome to the newcomers. 
[72] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

The doctor was there to attend to their suffer- 
ings, if they had any, and Madame Guix had 
found a very able assistant in the person of 
Mademoiselle Alice Foerter, saleslady in one 
of the big shops on the Avenue de 1' Opera, and 
whom the invasion had surprised spending her 
vacation with her parents at Villiers. 

When suddenly overnight one finds one's 
family augmented by fourteen hungry mouths, 
there is only one thing left to do — hustle! 

I gulped my coffee and started down the 
kitchen corridor. Suddenly at the other ex- 
tremity the door opened and an unfamiliar 
military figure wearing the red cloth bloomers 
of a Zouave, emerged from the culinary re- 
gions. His face was unknown to me, but in a 
twinkling my eye had recognised the topcoat 
of an artilleryman, and the Alpine soldiers' 
bonnet! High in the air above his head, bal- 
anced on one hand was a tray full of dishes. 

I was surely more disconcerted than he, for 
he continued his approach, and as he drew up 
to me made a most dramatic pirouette, saluted 
and said — 

"Lambert, the new orderly — at your service, 
Madame." 

[73] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

I murmured a word of welcome, and for 
want of something better to say asked him to 
what branch of the service he belonged. 

"The Light Infantry, Madame", he replied, 
continuing his way. 

If he had said the "Kaiser's personal suite", 
I shouldn't have been more astonished — for 
nothing about his bearing or uniform betok- 
ened in the slightest degree, the service he had 
mentioned. 

Some poor, harmless lunatic — I'd find out 
more about him later on: just at present it was 
luncheon that was worrying us. 

A few days before it had been an easy thing 
to solve the food problem, but added to our 
troubles of the moment was the rapid disap- 
pearance of the little coal that remained in my 
bunkers, after the invasion, and which our large 
kitchen range was now consuming with alarm- 
ing celerity. For this there was but one thing 
to be done, admonish those in charge to "Go 
easy" — and then set about getting someone to 
saw wood into several even lengths — because, 
once our coal supply exhausted there was no 
way of its being replenished. Even in peace 
times it had to come by rail to Nogent — eight 
[74] 




AMED-BEN-MOH-AMED, NINl's ARAB, WHO 
BELONGED TO Ol H MOROCCAN TROOPS 



MY HOME IX THE FIELD OF MERCY 

miles away — and at present there was no rail- 
way — at least for civilian, or even hospital 
needs. Heaven help us if it ever grew cold 
enough to need a furnace ! 

As to the food supply it was now a question 
of canvassing the whole outlying vicinity — of 
getting not only our own, but butchers as far as 
fifteen miles the round, to help swell our ra- 
tions. This was doubly difficult because in 
most cases the butchers themselves were at the 
front and had left only their wives to replace 
them. To their lot then fell the procuring, the 
killing, the actual chopping up and delivery — 
a heroic job when one considers that there 
wasn't a single horse under twenty years of 
age left to haul the carts that could be impro- 
vised — and doubly meritorious when there 
were young children to be looked after. 

It was raining, as usual, a nasty cold drizzle 
that discouraged one from the star** I fancy 
one never really gets accustomed to paddling 
about in heavy wooden sabots, or having one's 
every covering permeated almost immediately 
one stirs abroad. It was like living in an 
aquarium. Nevertheless it had to be braved, 
and I spent that and a number of the following 
[75] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

mornings arranging a regular daily routine, 
which if carried out as promised would save 
further complications. 

It was not until after luncheon that I made 
the acquaintance of the latest arrivals, who 
occupied a ward on the first floor. In such 
cases there can be no introduction, one merely 
passes from bed to bed, with a word of encour- 
agement for each and every newcomer, and 
later on the perusal of the sergeant's sheet tells 
from whence they hail, and what is their calling. 
During the entire time the Chateau de Villiers 
functioned as a hospital we never had a patient 
of culture or refinement ; ours were children of 
the soil — and it is constant contact with such 
souls as theirs that gives one an insight to the 
heretofore undreamed of qualities of the 
French race. 

In all the long dreary months during which 
hundreds of these humble, uncouth peasants 
who ranged from eighteen to fifty years of age, 
came and went from my home; mid their suf- 
ferings ar i joys, I never heard a vulgar oath, 
an unkind word, and yet I knew that with us 
they felt they were under no restraint. 

Of the men who composed the upstairs ward, 
[76] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

those whom I recall the best were Amed-ben- 
Mohamed, Nini's Arab, who belonged to our 
Moroccan troops, and Lambert, he of the 
Zouave bloomers — who evacuated for chronic 
asthma, had elected the kitchen as the best place 
to proceed with his cure. Besides, what could 
the Doctor say — a Red-Cross sleeve band 
which was the chief adornment of his extraor- 
dinary uniform, and which I forgot to mention, 
stamped him as stretcher-bearer on the battle- 
field, orderly in a hospital — and pray where 
was the proper place for any self-respecting 
orderly if not in the kitchen ! 

Our doctor closed his eyes a trifle to such 
proceedings. We were in need of all the help 
we could get — and 9ny voluntary assistance in 
the matter of carrying trays and washing 
dishes was not to be discouraged. 

Amed-ben-Mohamed, quickly dubbed "Sidi" 
— whose entire French vocabulary consisted of 
three words — Boche, salaud, capoute — had 
some little difficulty in explaining to our doctor 
for just what reason he had been evacuated. 
Fever, he certainly had — but not sufficient to 
prevent him from raising himself on his elbow 
and leisurely smoking a package of cigarettes 
[77] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

a day. And just as we had diagnosed appendi- 
citis the pain would suddenly shift, and become 
congestion of the lungs, and every symptom 
was there! The days that his malady per- 
mitted him to take his meals in the refectory 
with the others, his chief occupation was to 
discover whether or not he was being served 
with pork, which is forbidden by his creed. 

Lambert, who, among other things, had 
elected to wait on his fellow men at table 
(thereby reserving for himself the privilege of 
eating in the kitchen with my own domestics ) , 
took Sidi under his special tutelage, and when 
the forbidden viands appeared on the menu, 
always had some specialty dished up for him. 
I can see him now leaning over Sidi who had 
stretched out his hand towards the dish — pull- 
ing him by the sleeve and shouting "Aloof, 
aloof — not good — no, no". 

"Where did you learn Arabic?" I queried. 

"Picked it up when I was with the Colonial 
troops in Africa," came the quick reply that 
made all the men prick up their ears, and 
wonder how this pale faced sapling had ever 
stood the strain. 

It was with the first comers that we became 
[78] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

most quickly acquainted. They had been 
allotted the ward in the drawing-room, where 
the broad hearth with its brilliant pine wood 
fire was most inviting, and the groups that 
clustered about it gradually lost their shyness, 
and at the end of a week were freely discussing 
the one and only topic of the time — the war. 
Not that any of them ever spoke, or even 
alluded to the individual part that he had 
played therein. Personal narratives had to be 
extracted piecemeal, and yet many among the 
lads wore the cross for bravery. 

It was more like a house party than anything 
else, and little by little the men from the other 
rooms would come down bringing their chairs, 
to spend an hour or so mid this genial com- 
pany. 

A touching attention which won my heart 
immediately was the fact that I could come 
upon them at any time of the day or evening, 
and always find my favourite armchair vacant, 
awaiting me. The presence of a woman 
amongst them never created the slightest shy- 
ness, nor awkward feeling. We were all part- 
ners in the same great struggle — and we knew 
it. I must admit, however, that mine was the 
[79] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

only place respected, for time and again I have 
watched a boy sit near the kindly blaze — liter- 
ally steaming in his clothes — loath to give up 
his favourite spot — knowing that a breathing 
trip to the window would lose him his seat for 
the next hour at least ! 

Now and again the doctor was called to Cha- 
teau-Thierry to make his report, and each time 
he returned he would bring the daily paper. 
What a rare treat it was. One of us women 
would seize it and immediately read the news 
aloud to all assembled, and then the little 
flimsy, single sheet would pass from hand to 
hand — and when finally consigned to the waste 
basket was nearer pulp than paper! 

If the news were favourable tongues wagged 
almost gaily, planning future advances, most 
of the men foreshadowing the time when home 
and loved ones would be liberated from the op- 
pressors' heel. If the news were not so good, 
far from discouraging its readers, it seemed to 
stimulate their ardour. 

"Ah, la, la! what's fifty yards of trenches — 
let 'em look out for themselves to-morrow!" 
And almost invariably the next day the cannon 
would roar in our immediate vicinity. 
[80] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"What did I tell you! they're pounding on 
the cathedral at Soissons, that means they've 
lost somewhere up the line!" 

At first I imagined that this was merely sup- 
position but later on I found it to be true ; and 
long before we could procure the "Commu- 
nique" we were able to judge the success of our 
troops from the more or less heavy bombard- 
ment inflicted by the Germans upon our near- 
est open city. 

"What good can it do 'em to waste their 
shells like that?" 

"They're just mad — they've got to break 
something." 

"Mad, well they'll be madder yet before we 
get through with 'em ! It'll take 'em a hundred 
years to recover. We gave 'em a taste of what 
we could do at the Marne — didn't we?" 

"Just give us time and — " . . . 

"When do you think it'll all be over?" tim- 
idly inquired "La Petite Jaquette," who like 
Cinderella was always to be found bending 
over the fire, stirring some mysterious remedy. 

"Over! how can I tell — but I don't see what 
you've got to growl about — isn't this place 
good enough for you?" 

[81] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

That November there seemed to be no end to 
the bad weather. It rained on and on hope- 
lessly and ceaselessly, housing the men for 
weeks at a time, and making it necessary to 
invent amusements, for once the home letters 
written, time hung heavy on the hands of these 
twoscore patients who were making rapid 
strides towards complete recovery. 

From somewhere in the ruins a battered 
chess board had been extracted, and a clever 
cabinet maker turned us out a hand made set 
of men. This, however, was distraction for a 
half dozen at most — the two players and their 
nearest neighbours, who used to bet their week's 
dessert on their favourites. 

Someone found a chromo-lithograph, which 
was ironed out, glued to a board, and then 
sawed into a hundred pieces, making an enter- 
taining picture puzzle. 

Last, but not least, Lambert produced a 
pack of cards which might have been carried 
through the war of 1870, if one were to judge 
their age by their colour! 

"Where'd you get them?" inquired a de- 
lighted devotee. 

"In Belgium, when I was with the Lancers!" 
[82] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

The interlocutor scratched his head. 

"I thought you said you belonged to the 
Colonial Infantry?" 

But Lambert had already discreetly retired 
beyond hearing. 

It seemed to me that every one of these men 
had a different way of telling fortunes — and 
between seances the pack would be borrowed 
by ardent lovers of "Ecarte" or "Manille". 

I tried to introduce poker, but not being an 
expert at the game myself, my efforts were 
fruitless, and I was gently but firmly informed 
that if one really wanted to gamble for buttons 
or pebbles, Baccarat far surpassed any Amer- 
ican invention. 

Another favourite pastime was singing. Na- 
tive talent was not sufficient to permit us to 
graduate even to two part songs — but each 
and every man, no matter what his vocal qual- 
ities has some favourite ditty — some patriotic, 
some sentimental — but for the most part dear 
old folk songs characteristic of the realm from 
which the singer came. It is really extraor- 
dinary in what rapt silence forty men will sit 
listening to a long drawn out story, whose 
primitive musical accompaniment becomes 
[83] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

more than wearying after the twenty-second 
verse ; and it is stranger still when one considers 
that the French soldier usually so modest about 
displaying his talents can be called upon for a 
chanson at almost any time or place — and 
willingly complies — standing up and pouring 
out his heart, absolutely unconscious of his sur- 
roundings. 

It was thus that a sad faced, sallow cheeked, 
middle aged man called Lebras, insisted upon 
getting in his turn every time our impromptu 
concert began. And after the third or fourth 
stanza — each one of which commenced — "The 
snow is gently falling' ' — he would be obliged 
to gasp for breath owing to his rundown phys- 
ical condition. 

"Don't strain yourself old man", gently 
hinted a companion a bit bored. 

"No danger, I'm all right now", replied the 
singer, grasping the rail of his bed to steady 
himself, and literally growing purple in his 
attempt to keep on key. 

"Don't overdo, it isn't worth while. Plenty 
of time to-morrow", suggested another con- 
frere, guessing my mental agony. 

"I'm still game", would come the reply, and 
[84] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

as though storming an enemy position the fel- 
low would valiantly stick to his post — only to 
fall panting on his bed mid thundering ap- 
plause from his audience. 

"Awful ordeal for you, Madame", whis- 
pered little wide-awake Sergeant Lorrain 
by way of apology, "But he's such a good 
fellow we can't let him down. He's got a 
wife and three kids, and he won that medal 
for going out and fetching in his captain 
who was agonising twenty yards in front of 
his trenches. We can stand a lot more from 
him if you can." 

I once mentioned this extraordinary willing- 
ness to vocalise in public to an officer friend of 
mine, a captain. He smiled at my story and 
in return told such an amusing illustration of 
this particular propensity, that I cannot resist 
quoting it here. 

"It was Christmas and the sections who be- 
hind the lines were awaiting their turn to go to 
the trenches, asked my permission to organise 
a concert in a tumble-down shed at the extreme 
end of the village. The whole thing was super- 
intended by a shoemaker — jack of all trades — 
under whose direction a stage was rigged up 
[85] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

and a couple of acetylene lamps actually made 
to burn." 

"The concert went off splendidly and the 
next morning the participating artists packed 
up their kits and ambled forth to the trenches, 
their extra terrestial faces still beatified by the 
intense jubilation of the night before." 

"These two sections relieved two others who 
came back to the cantonment with brows 
knitted and hearts swelled with bitterness at 
not having been able to attend the party." 

"Naturally the others had put aside their 
share of the refreshments. The tables were 
again set up, and each one got his orange, his 
cigar, his piece of cheese, his nuts and a cupful 
of champagne. When the bottle had gone the 
rounds there was a general demand for a song 
and several volunteers rose." 

"About eleven o'clock that night", continued 
the captain, "I was making a round when I 
caught sight of the lights in the shed, and 
quickly hastened in that direction. I opened 
the door and at the other extremity of the hall, 
mounted on the brilliantly lighted platform 
was a soldier, who, one hand on his heart was 
singing — 

[86] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Quand les Mas fleuriront — out — out!' 
"So engrossed was he by his song that he 
didn't perceive my presence, and the second 
glance showed me that the fellow was singing 
to empty seats. All his companions, dead 
tired, had rolled themselves up in their blankets 
and were peacefully sleeping at his feet!' , 



The greatest sensation of the month was the 
arrival of a real wounded man. The little 
temporary hospital at Rebais, where Madame 
Guix had taken care of so many cases during 
the invasion, was closing its doors for lack of 
patients. One alone remained, a chap named 
Paul Coutin, who had had a leg amputated 
but was hardly sufficiently recovered from the 
operation to be dismissed from the army and 
thrown helpless upon the world. He had been 
a great favourite with Madame Guix who was 
delighted to have him finish his convalescence at 
Villiers, so, thanks to my notary who acted as 
intermediary between the two military doctors, 
we finally obtained his permission, and Paul 
was duly transferred in maitre Baudoin's little 
wheezing motor. 

[87] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

His arrival was a triumph and the boys clus- 
tered round him, almost envious of his mis- 
fortune, which had no doubt won him the mili- 
tary medal. 

Appreciating that he was no longer "In the 
game", Paul made light of his affliction, and 
willingly told us of his campaign. It was 
doubly interesting to me, for after making the 
retreat from Charleroi and reaching Chateau 
Thierry he had covered practically the same 
ground as I in my flight to safety, and it was 
a joyful surprise to find that he belonged to 
that same cavalry regiment that I had watched 
from a street corner in Rebais, setting off to 
battle at two in the morning with smiles on 
their lips and joy enough to appreciate my 
invocations of good luck. 

"You never saw such a mess in all your life", 
explained Paul to a group of admirers. "We 
got into a hand to hand fight with the Bodies, 
on the top of the hill overlooking Chateau 
Thierry. It was dusk, when we started and 
before we knew it, it was pitch dark, the dark- 
est night you can imagine. Of all the rows you 
ever heard, this was the toughest — but the 
worst of it was we couldn't tell our men from 
[88] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

theirs. You'd hear a horseman coming down 
on you, and I'm blessed if there was a way of 
finding out whether he was friend or enemy. 
Finally in the midst of it all the German bugle 
blew "Stop the fight" — and someone yelled in 
French "Go to it fellows!" and you bet we 
went. Cleaned house thoroughly. Half an 
hour later when we got orders to draw off, and I 
came up with Joseph, our bugler, he was still 
laughing over the good joke he'd played on the 
Boches." 

"But our Adjutant didn't think it was a 
joke at all. Most of us had left more or less 
of our equipment on the battlefield, and all the 
way to Rebais we scrapped with him about 
what the Captain would say next day when we 
were lined up." 

From Rebais Paul had participated in the 
battle of the Morin, and it was during the 
French advance that he had been picked off 
by a German sharpshooter, hiding in the 
bushes. His horse slightly wounded had can- 
tered away leaving Paul sprawling on the 
ground with a bullet through his knee. 

He probably fainted, for when he woke up it 
was night, and his faithful steed was licking his 
[89] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

face. His first movement afforded much 
agony — but nevertheless he determined to look 
at his wound as soon as possible. He managed 
to find a match in his pocket, and striking it, he 
was horrified at the condition of his leg, which 
was swollen so he could not remove his boot. 
While wondering what was going to become of 
him, dawn broke and through the mist he could 
see a horseman advancing in his direction. A 
second later he recognised a Uhlan coming 
head-on, his lance lowered! Paul made a des- 
perate effort to reach his gun, which had fallen 
not far from his side, but his pain was so great 
that he could not stir. 

In his picturesque language the lad told how 
he thought his last moment had come when the 
Uhlan dashing upon him, raised his lance, and 
then to Paul's utter surprise, instead of run- 
ning him through — suddenly let his arm drop, 
dismounted and offered our wounded hero a 
drink of water and a couple of cigarettes ! 

"The next thing I remember was some peas- 
ants hoisting me into their cart, and when I 
woke up Madame Guix was cutting off my 
boot." 

Once strong as a young ox, just as soon as 
[90] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

he was able to be about, Paul began exercising 
so as not to become soft. He had been a turner 
of steel pieces in a motor factory, and had every 
intention of returning to his old trade. He 
very shortly became expert at getting around 
on his crutches, and his effort to convince him- 
self and us that he was not physically inferior 
because he was one leg minus, were heroically 
pathetic. 

I have seen him kick off a base in an impro- 
vised foot ball game for which we made new 
rules, and once when he was standing in the 
courtyard, George led out old Cesar to harness. 
His remembrance of the animal who had so 
faithfully borne him through the fight, rushed 
like blood to his head. Dropping his crutches 
with a superhuman effort, he gave a spring, 
arriving safely on Cesar's back, and trium- 
phantly cantered to the front door. 

Strange as it may seem the boys had no 
horror of Paul's infirmity. The exhibition of 
his stump, and the measuring to see if enough 
had been left to assure him a wooden leg, 
were a source of great merriment to his entire 
ward. 

Through some physiological phenomenon, 
[91] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

for which I do not recall the English technical 
name, the stump itself rapidly became covered 
with an abundant growth of hair. One morn- 
ing after the visit, Paul asked Madame Guix 
what she thought was the cause, and too busy 
to enter into details, my nurse replied that she 
supposed it was all the iodine she had used as 
disinfectant. 

The matter was dropped there, but the next 
morning I was astonished to see Sergeant 
Godec and Martin with their heads tied up. 

"Severe toothache", replied Godec to my in- 
quiry. Martin didn't even say as much — but 
rocked himself to and fro in his armchair, the 
perspiration trickling down his cheeks. 

Fancying there was something amiss, I went 
to the doctor, who with a twinkle in his eye, and 
at the risk of violating the professional secret, 
informed me that both Martin and Godec, who 
were bald as bats, had overheard Madame Guix 
informing Paul about the abnormal growth of 
hair on his stump. So that same evening on 
retiring, each one had painted the other's un- 
adorned head with sufficient iodine to raise a 
tremendous blister, and in the middle of the 
night so great was their agony that they were 
[92] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

obliged to rouse the doctor, and sheepishly 
avowing their vanity, supplicate him to ease 
their pain — and above all not to tell the others. 

This same Martin was the oldest of all our 
patients. Over forty, he belonged to the ter- 
ritorials, and had not weathered the Fall cam- 
paign very well. Rheumatism, asthma and 
bronchitis had laid him low — but not suffi- 
ciently to require his remaining in bed. A 
builder by trade, he used to wander around all 
over the place, and at night by light of the lamp 
would make plans for reconstruction when the 
war should be over. 

Much to his annoyance the chimney in his 
room drew very poorly, and in the middle of 
the night would often send out puffs of suffo- 
cating smoke. Martin stood it as long as he 
could, and then finally having raked up a 
plank, at the price of much puffing and blow- 
ing, climbed up three flights of stairs and 
pushed his board out a window onto the roof. 
These extraordinary proceedings were ob- 
served with much interest by all those who were 
able to be abroad, and any quantity of good 
advice as to what to do to prevent slipping or 
falling, was offered by the admiring spectators. 
[93] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Martin's appearance, pulling himself 
through a little round window that was scarce 
bigger than a port hole, was greeted by a roar 
of applause from below. Quick to see fun he 
replied by removing his cap and making a pro- 
found bow. 

Peals of laughter from the audience, and 
then almost breathless silence while Martin 
consolidated his plank and tried it with one 
foot. Then he returned to the window and 
drew forth a long pole, to which was tied a 
broom. Everyone guessed what he was going 
to do with it, and after he had successfully 
reached the crest of the chimney and the tight- 
rope act was no longer a novelty, the men be- 
gan talking in groups, while Martin poked 
away for a good five minutes. 

"Is it as full as all that?" called someone, 
just for the sake of saying something. 

"Shh!" returned a neighbour in a loud 
whisper, "He thinks he's in an observation post. 
Don't disturb him." 

This was followed by general giggling 
among the boys. 

"Something's let go," cried Martin trium- 
phantly, and at the same moment a fearful 
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MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

shriek arose from indoors. Everyone made a 
dash towards the entrance, and following in 
their wake I arrived just in time to see "La 
Petite Jaquette" emerge from the doorway, 
sputtering and spitting and literally covered 
with some clear, slimy liquid. 

"I'm drowned, I'm suffocating — what a 
dirty trick to play — if ever I get hold of the 
rascal who did it!" gasped Cinderella junior. 

"Did what?" they all shrieked in chorus. 

"Threw that pot of nasty, sticky stuff down 
the chimney on my head!" 

"Sticky stuff?" The boys looked at each 
other and then at Betsy, my bull dog, who 
having followed "La Petite Jaquette" in his 
flight, was calmly licking the ground surround- 
ing him. 

"It's honey, I do believe — of course it is!" 

In the meantime Martin was wildly gesticu- 
lating from the roof. 

"Get a jar, get a bowl, don't lose any of it". 

Unfortunately when we arrived it was too 
late — the lovely honeycomb had received too 
severe a shock and lay burst wide apart mid 
the ashes and soot in the fireplace. In its fall 
it had smeared the sides of the chimney, and 
[95] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

for weeks afterwards one could smell caramel 
whenever Martin's fire gleamed most brightly. 

One of the most interesting things about my 
hospital from a psychological point of view, 
was the rapidity with which the occupants ac- 
quired the sensation of possession. Within a 
fortnight after their arrival the hospital was no 
longer called "Hospital number seven," but our 
hospital — then presently, our chateau — our 
Villiers. Shortly after we had been established 
the convent in our market town, some four 
miles down the road, was drafted by the mili- 
tary authority and used for similar purposes. 
When there was a lull in the eternal drizzle 
some of the poor fellows at Charly who were 
literally cloistered, would take a constitu- 
tional, pushing as far at times as our village. 
Seeing our Red Cross flag one or two of them 
ventured into the park, but were promptly 
ejected by our men. 

"This is private property", I heard them say. 

"I know", timidly protested the other, "but 
it's a hospital now". 

"What if it is, that doesn't make it public, 
does it?" 

[96] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"No, but"— 

"There is not any but about it, we don't 
come down to Charly snooping around in 
your business, do we ? No ! then don't you come 
snooping around up here!" 

What they said was perfectly true, for 
though there was a ten foot wall and a moat 
around the entire property, we never dreamed 
of closing the gates, even at night. Aside from 
promenades in the park when weather per- 
mitted, the boys did not seem to care about 
tramping on the high-road, visiting the country 
round. They probably realised that they'd 
have more of that than they bargained for just 
as soon as they left us. 

Presently our doctor announced that our 
patients were doing so well that two medical 
inspections a day were useless, henceforth there 
would be but one, at eight in the morning. Not 
long afterwards Madame Guix discovered that 
around five p. m. few of the boys could be found 
indoors, and that at bedtime many of them had 
a high color, bright eyes and very glib tongues. 
From the housekeeper's totals it was easy to 
discover that there was a decided falling off in 
appetite at the evening meal. 
[97] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Something was amiss, but what? Who was 
doing it? How was it done? We set our 
brains to working, and very quickly we sup- 
posed that because of an attractive seventeen 
year old daughter, Monceau, the one and only 
inn-keeper in the town, had lured the boys into 
his cafe. I even went the length of making a 
surprise visit that cost me a bottle of peach 
brandy for which I then had no use whatsoever. 
All of no avail. 

It was Lambert who let the cat out of the 
bag. For some unknown reason he got into a 
dispute with George who peasant-like, did not 
make much choice of terms, and told Lambert 
he was either crazy or drunk. 

Resenting both insults, but sufficiently 
master of himself to realise the punishment if 
he were proven intoxicated, the chap who had 
bragged about belonging to the Colonial. In- 
fantry, and to the Belgian Lancers almost in 
the same breath, decided to act the madman. 
Falling on the floor he began wriggling about, 
calling for his wife in most endearing terms, 
and literally frightening to tears the women 
in the kitchen who ran out screaming for the 
doctor. 

[98] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Madame Guix appeared and was just about 
to be taken in by the comedy, when the doctor 
himself, returning from his walk an hour earlier 
than usual, loomed upon the scene. 

Lambert's delirium redoubled. It was in- 
deed high art. But our doctor was not to be 
fooled. He ordered a dash of ice cold water, 
and then that Lambert be put to bed. 

Half an hour later, in spite of his every effort 
to seem wild and wandering, his eyes closed 
and he dropped to sleep. And it was while 
Madame Guix and I sat near him wondering 
when and how all this had come about, that our 
patient began mumbling in his sleep. At first 
I paid no attention to his ramblings, but pres- 
ently when the words "Pere Poupard" were 
repeated again and again, I began to listen 
more closely. 

"I've got it", I said, and leaving the room I 
threw a shawl about my shoulders and started 
straight for Poupard's cottage. 

Darkness was coming on, and something told 
me to look through the window before knock- 
ing at the door. Shading my eyes with my 
hand, I gazed and beheld — Father Poupard at 
one end of the table, surrounded by a full score 
[99] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

of my patients who were gently sipping from 
tumblers different qualities of the old man's 
home brew. Such generosity they had never 
encountered in all their lives. 

What was the use of making a fuss ? I con- 
fided my discovery to the doctor, saying I 
would be responsible for the boys if he would 
interview Poupard. 

Next morning, all I said to the whole hos- 
pital assembled was — "Gentlemen, it would be 
wiser to discontinue your afternoon tea 
parties." 

They understood and obeyed. 



[100] 



IV 

"Madame, I no longer believe in God." 
This startling confession which literally took 
me off my feet was made in my office by a pale 
faced, placid looking little man called Batiot, 
who had asked for a private interview and was 
hardly seated before he burst forth with the 
statement as though anxious to relieve his 
mind. 

Batiot was one of our latest arrivals, and 
known to me as suffering from nervous break- 
down. My particular attention had been 
drawn to him through the fact that when able 
to get about, he had seemed so keenly afflicted 
at being obliged to put on his soiled military 
togs, that for our own moral welfare, as well as 
his, we had scoured the village and finally man- 
aged to rig him out with a threadbare blue 
serge suit, two sizes too large, and a queer little 
knitted tamoshanter, which clung to his head 
like a scull cap. Thus equipped he had a 
strange, vague resemblance to the late Presi- 
dent Carnot, which his room mates had not 
[101] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

failed to observe, and from then on he was 
known as none other. 

"What do you mean Batiot? Surely you 
are jesting", said I sparring for time. 

"No, madame, I was never more serious in 
my life." 

"Hum! well much as I'd like to be I fear I 
am hardly the person to come to under such 
circumstances. Were you a Christian?" 

"Yes." 

"A Catholic?" 

"Yes." 

"Then, I should advise you to have a talk with 
our priest down at Charly. If you are not well 
enough to go, I'll try to make arrangements to 
have him come here. Does that suit you?" 

"Le President" said it did, but with no ap- 
parent enthusiasm, and our conversation ended 
there. 

Not even my onerous daily duties drove that 
interview from my mind. It worried me. 
Here was one more proof that the spirit of un- 
rest was gaining foothold in our midst. Vari- 
ous insignificant incidents, together with the 
"Tea parties chez Poupard" were sufficient 
indication that the boys were chafing for the 
[102] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

want of something to amuse them. But what? 
We had racked our brains and invented every 
plausible pastime for grown-ups that our lim- 
ited means permitted. 

Deciding that two heads were better than 
one, I went to Madame Guix about the matter. 

"They're just longing for something to do," 
she said. 

"I quite agree with you. Can you suggest 
something? You know they're not strong 
enough to take up military training of any 
kind, otherwise they'd have been dismissed 
from here long ago and sent to their barracks." 

"Surely, but perhaps there are other less 
fatiguing things. You see they've been civil- 
ians so long here that their remembrances of 
their military campaign have become misty, 
and their ordinary occupations are what they 
crave. I don't believe any one of them ever 
had so much time to be ill in all his life." 

I smiled, realizing that my companion was 
right. But how to go about it? We had men 
from every branch of the trades, and the pros- 
pect of opening up a blacksmith shop, or a 
glass factory seemed hardly feasible at the 
moment, and I said so. 

[103] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Mercy" ! exclaimed Madame Guix, "I don't 
mean anything of the kind is necessary. Most 
of our boys have probably some homely 
domestic talent that they are ashamed to dis- 
play unless we prove we are all in need of it. 
They're far too timid to volunteer." 

"Do you really think so?" 

"I'm sure of it, and you would laugh if you 
were in the drawing-room this minute and 
could see Paul and 'Chou' winding off my 
skein of wool." 

"What's the president by trade"? I asked 
her. 

"I don't know but I'll find out at once." 

In a few moments she returned bearing the 
news that he was a tailor ! 

"What luck — the sergeant has been boring 
the doctor to death for the last week begging 
permission to go to headquarters and ask for 
a pair of trousers. His are all worn out. Do 
you think the president would object to put- 
ting on the patch?" 

We called him and put the question. From 
the way his eyes brightened, I felt we were not 
mistaken. 

"All I need is a thimble, needles, thread, a 
[ 104] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

table and the material, and I'd make you a suit 
if you'd like to have me." 

The thimble, needles and thread were easy 
enough to procure, but an empty table, in a 
place where furniture was already so scarce 
gave us food for reflection — and when we had 
solved the problem by sacrificing our own din- 
ing-room board between meals, the question 
of the material out of which to make the 
patches proved to be a puzzler. It was useless 
to think of going to a store. There were no 
drapers at Villiers and at Charly, Madame 
Maury had had her place looted and burned by 
the Germans. 

"I'll tell you", suddenly piped up the 
president, "You get Lambert to give us his 
Zouave bloomers; there's enough in them to 
make him a fine pair of ordinary trousers, and 
there'll be plenty left over to do all the patch- 
ing we need." 

What a brilliant idea! We acted upon it 
immediately, but evidently counted without 
Lambert, for if we had proposed to rob him 
of his soul, I hardly think any mortal could 
have been more indignant. He flew into a 
rage. 

[105] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"What, take my bloomers to make patches! 
Never! I'd rather go out and throw them in 
the river than let you put your scissors into 
them — you sacrilegious, white livered, jelly- 
fish!" he screamed at the helpless tailor who 
had politely made the demand. "Trousers that 
have seen every battle front in France and in 
Africa", he continued. "Not much! These 
bloomers go where I go, and the only person 
that stands a chance of getting them is the 
fellow that picks up my dead body!" 

His anger degenerated into tears on my ap- 
pearance, and the proud owner of the "Culotte 
de Zouave" offered us his wedding ring, his 
jack-knife, a soldier's most cherished belong- 
ings, if only we would leave him his bloomers. 
It is useless to insist, in fact I had no right to, 
but as by dinner time we had found no other 
way of procuring material, I confided my 
dilemma to our officers, and jokingly recounted 
our fruitless efforts to deprive Lambert of his 
possessions. 

They were greatly amused and laughed 
heartily. Presently the doctor sat bolt up- 
right. 

"Lambert"? said he, "Lambert? Why if 
[106] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

I recall aright he doesn't belong to the Zouaves 
at all" ! He rang for the sergeant. 

"Godec", said he, "I believe you've got the 
men's military books in safe keeping." 

"Yes sir." 

"Well then, just bring me in Lambert's, will 
you?" 

"Certainly sir." 

In a few moments he returned. The doctor 
took the book from him, and bending over 
to the light carefully read through the first 
page. 

"That will do", said he. The sergeant dis- 
appeared, and he had hardly closed the door 
before the doctor turned about to us, his eyes 
bright with amusement. 

"Lambert", said he, "'Lambert doesn't any 
more belong to the Zouaves than I do. He's 
a simple private in the <a?th Infantry, that's 
all! Heaven knows where he got those trous- 
ers, but he hasn't the slightest right in the world 
to them. You needn't look any further for 
your patches." 

Anxious to avoid any imperative scene be- 
tween officer and private, I suggested we send 
our night-watchman to see if he couldn't find 
[107] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 

them hanging in the proper place. But the man 
returned to say that, suspicious of our plans, 
Lambert had retired entirely clothed. 

I was absent the next morning when the 
sacrifice was made, but about ten o'clock when 
I came into the dining-room the president 
was proudly perched cross-legged on the table, 
inserting a "piece of pie" into his own red 
broadcloth trousers. 

"It may seem selfish to do my own first", he 
explained, a radiant smile lighting up his face. 
"But you see when I can put on my own uni- 
form, I can lend my civilian clothes to another 
fellow so he wont have to go to bed while I'm 
patching his." 

So popular was the president's tailor shop 
that a long waiting list had to be established, 
and his example stimulated a cleaner to steam 
and press the battered kepis of his friends, 
who were so proud of their new uniforms 
that on Sundays they marched to mass two 
abreast, the president leading, instead of 
slinking out one at a time in the hope of not 
attracting attention. 

The haberdashery department was not the 
sole beneficiary of this streak of enthusiasm. 
[108] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Once the president had set the pace the 
others quickly followed suit, and in a couple of 
days the happy humming and whistlings that 
came from all quarters, denoted that each one 
had found a congenial occupation. 

By applying to the wife of a mobilised 
mason, we procured lime and plaster, and 
under the supervision of Martin, a building 
squad worked two hours each pleasant after- 
noon repairing the damage inflicted by the 
Hun on the facade of the chateau. 

Chou and his ward neighbour and boon 
companion, Thierage, had been particularly 
singled out by the doctor and the pharmacist, 
and just as soon as their condition permitted 
they were removed from the drawing-room 
ward, promoted to officer's orderlies, and al- 
lotted quarters in the servants' wing, which was 
not so easy to heat. They were especially priv- 
ileged mortals, and I am glad to say that they 
never for a moment sought to take advantage 
of their situation. They literally ferreted the 
house from cellar to attic in search of whatever 
their daily occupations convinced them they 
required, and to this day I can see them in the 
court-yard cleaning the officers' sabres with 
[109] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

fine sand and lemon rinds. Their own guns 
underwent the same strenuous treatment, after 
which they were carefully greased and put 
away. But with the sabres it was quite differ- 
ent, and fear that they should rust set Chou 
to thinking. A couple of hours later I came 
upon him begging the president to sew to- 
gether long strips of variegated rags, which 
more resembled a kite-tail than anything I 
could think of. I said nothing, but watched, 
and presently when the tailor had complied 
with his request, I saw Chou sit down and 
start to entwine the doctor's scabbard, imitat- 
ing to perfection, Madame Guix's movements 
and gestures when she was bandaging up an 
arm or a leg. 

I had little or no occasion to visit the ser- 
vants' quarters, and a leak, I think it was that 
summoned my presence to that vicinity. So I 
profited by the occasion to see how the "Heav- 
enly Twins" were installed and if they needed 
anything I might be able to lend them. I could 
hardly believe my eyes when I opened the door 
for no chambre de jeune fille was ever more 
invitingly arranged. 

From damaged rolls of paper that had been 
[110] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

thrown out by a hanger at Charly, whose stock 
had been wrecked, Chou and Thierage man- 
aged to pick out enough of a kind to cover their 
room. With infinite pains they had measured 
their window, and begged Mademoiselle Alice 
to put a hem into two lengths of cheese cloth, 
which they explained they needed for personal 
use. Two small, neatly-made-up iron hospital 
beds occupied one side, and between them, and 
as sole ornament on that wall, a lithograph of 
General Joffre, extracted from a back number 
of "L'lllustration". 

The other wall was a wonder to behold. Ex- 
actly in the centre was a marvellously con- 
structed panoply composed of their guns, 
bayonets, knap-sacks and minor military trap- 
pings, together with what German trophies 
they had been able to retain unobserved, and 
on every other available square inch of space 
was hung a clock! Such ticking you never 
heard ! 

Watch repairer by trade, Thierage in his 
rummagings had unearthed different parts of 
my various time pieces, had soaked them in 
kerosene, and finally put them together. Some 
fifteen or sixteen wrist watches, hung up by 

[in] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 

their straps, made a regular fringe to a shelf, 
and not satisfied with regulating all he could 
procure in the entire chateau, he had been out 
in the village and solicited everything from 
grandfather to alarm clocks. 

A couple of Southerners had investigated 
the interior of my piano which was much the 
worse for two hundred pots of jam that the 
Germans had seen fit to pour over the strings. 
They rolled the instrument into a back room 
and during the next week used everything from 
rakes to monkey wrenches trying to make the 
thing play. They succeeded fairly well, the 
upper notes responding to treatment. But the 
bass was hopeless. Only three notes survived 
the cure and they formed the C major chord. 

"Never mind", cheerily ejaculated a lyric 
artist from Beziers. "The bass never counts 
anyhow. There are enough notes left to do all 
I need." And he was as good as his word for 
everything from "Carmen" to the "Machiche" 
was played and sung with the same accompani- 
ment. 

On days when they were obliged to remain 
indoors, the piano was going from dawn until 
bedtime, and there were moments when I 
[112] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

thought I should go mad. But the boys didn't 
seem to mind it in the least. 

I wonder who it was that first inaugurated 
the brilliant idea of teaching "Sidi" the French 
language. Probably Bressy, a tall artillery 
trumpeter, his neighbour in their ward. 
Straightway of course all the others offered 
their services as professors, and the different 
methods that were employed were sufficient to 
muddle a far clearer brain than that possessed 
by Amed-ben-Mohamed. The oral system, by 
syllables, rapidly became a favourite because 
every one could participate therein, and rainy 
afternoons one could hear the entire convales- 
cent hospital repeating in chorus, for hours at 
a time, "Ba, be, bi, bo, bu", "Da, de, di, do, 
du", etc. 

They cut out the entire alphabet from the 
headlines of old newspapers, pasting the letters 
in order on a strip of cardboard. This prim- 
itive sheet was rapidly replaced by a highly 
ornamented affair, made by Sergeant Godec in 
person, who was so interested in the progress 
of the pupil, that he actually neglected a cherry 
wood pipe he was carving in order to provide 
Sidi with proper material. The poor Moroc- 
[113] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 

can would repeat the letters one after another, 
and then with a pointer someone would indicate 
a certain capital. Nine times out of ten Sidi 
would make an erroneous reply ; there were mo- 
ments when I wondered if he didn't do it on 
purpose. For when perchance he articulated 
the proper sound, the whole room would turn 
to me for applause of their triumph. 

Amed-ben-Mohamed was not ignorant by 
any means. Aping his fellow men he used to 
write long pages of neat hieroglyphics and put 
them carefully away in his pocket. 

"To Fatma"? mischievously inquired a wag, 
pointing to Sidi's letter. 

"Oui, out, oui\ was the prompt and joyous 
reply. "Fatma, wife Amed." At which there 
was a general shriek of delight and Godec ex- 
claimed, "You see how his French is improv- 
ing." 

From somewhere in the attic Chou and 
Thierage brought to light my very dilapidated 
tapestry frame with a half finished canvas still 
stretched upon it. Our cabinet maker at once 
offered his services, and the damage to the 
spindle-legs was quickly repaired. So each 
day, in the half hour that preceded dinner, 
[114] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Madame Guix amused herself by continuing 
the work I had already begun. The boys clus- 
tered around her, fascinated by the little even 
rows of stitches and the gradual development 
of the intricate, multi-colored design tickled 
their artistic sense, so keen even among the 
most uneducated in France. 

"I'll bet I could do that almost as smoothly 
as you", finally declared Paul, who from the 
very start had been aching to get in his hand 
at it. 

"Do you? Would you like to try it?" 

"Rather! I'll pull it out if I go wrong, I 
promise." 

"Oh, it's not very difficult." 

Laying aside his crutches the lad took Ma- 
dame Guix's seat. After a trifling hesitation 
he soon caught the manner, and so intent was he 
on doing well that the great beads of perspira- 
tion rolled from his brow. At the end of three 
rows he looked up, wiped his face and ex- 
claimed, "Gee, this is great. Something I can 
really do to help." 

"Can't you put a chair on the other side of 
the frame, I'd like to try too?" This from a 
young shaggy haired miner. 
[115] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Surely, as many as you like, or rather, as 
many as the frame will accommodate." 

A precedent was created, and for weeks 
afterwards the boys had regular hours at the 
frame, each more than critical of the degree of 
smoothness attained by his neighbour's needle. 
We watched their progress, which was really 
remarkable and when bedtime came, they were 
loath to put the frame aside. 

Presently I became so busy that three days 
elapsed before I had time to give their tapestry 
a moment's attention. Paul, alone, was seated 
at the frame and as I leaned over his shoulder 
I was surprised to see that an often repeated 
motif which on the entire canvas had been 
worked in blue was in two places done in 
pink. 

"Whose fantasy is this"? I queried with a 
smile. 

"The sergeant's." 

"Godec's? Has he been working at it too?" 

"Yes, but all wrong", was the disdainful 
reply. "I nearly had a fight with him about it. 
I think he's gone queer because when I told 
him that wasn't the right colour, he informed 
me I didn't know what I was talking about, 
[116] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

and to mind my own business. He even went 
over to the window to match the shade, and 
came back and worked that scroll in pink!" 

I laughed. "He is not queer, just colour 
blind", I explained. 

Anyone interested in the study of physiog- 
nomy would have had ample examples at hos- 
pital number seven during those first months 
of the war. Mail service which had to be or- 
ganized according to the new conditions of the 
country was rather incoherent, but when the 
letters did come the boys' faces were marvels to 
behold. Expectancy quickly changed to de- 
light or disappointment, gleamed from all eyes 
as the military post man drove into the yard. 

At first we used to assemble the men and the 
sergeant would call out their names. But I 
quickly put a stop to that proceeding when I 
realised how many had their families in invaded 
territory and would look in vain for news. My 
own feelings made me sympathise for it was 
now well into November, and since the first 
week in August I had had but three letters from 
my husband. Thereafter mail was sorted and 
placed on the hall table and it was surprising 
the amount of correspondence received by cer- 
[117] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

tain silent men about whom we knew little or 
nothing, and fancied for some reason that no 
one else did. 

Presently the parcel post packages began 
arriving and the boys never failed to share their 
contents with their bed neighbours, and often 
with their entire ward, when size permitted. 
Eventually, as weeks went by, arose the deli- 
cate question of accepting when one was cer- 
tain of never receiving anything with which to 
return the compliment. Oh, what wonderful 
charitable work could have been, and can still 
be done in this field, by way of anonymous 
packages and trifling money orders that cost 
little or nothing. It made my heart ache not to 
be able to wire some kind friend and feel sure 
of a substantial reply by return mail. 

Oftentimes there was great rejoicing when 
in a round about way someone got news that 
his family had fled during the invasion and 
was safe and sound in some remote corner of 
France, patiently awaiting the time to return 
home. 

Coming into the drawing-room quite late one 
morning I was surprised to see Paul stretched 
out on his bed with his face buried in his pillow. 
[118] 




I pn 




SOMEONE GOT NEWS THAT HIS FAMILY TIAD 
FLED DURING THE INVASION 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Eh bien, Paul, what's the trouble ? Are you 
ill?" 

The only answer was the heaving of his 
shoulders. 

"Has anything happened?" I hastily in- 
quired of a soldier who put his head in at the 
door. 

"I couldn't say, all I know is that he got his 
first letter this morning." 

I returned to Paul's bedside. As I ap- 
proached, without lifting his head the boy 
stretched out his hand and poked a soiled, much 
post-marked envelope into mine. 

"Read it, read it; it's from my brother," was 
all he said. 

Turning to the window I drew the missive 
from its cover and read. When I had finished, 
I wiped my eyes and read it again. And here 
follows a humble translation of an original, 
which in spite of many faults in spelling, to me 
is scriptural in its primitive but noble sim- 
plicity. 

"My dear Brother: 

I hasten to write you for I have just found 
out where you might be. I have thought of 
you so much, and I have asked myself again 
[119] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

and again, and everywhere on the road I have 
asked if anyone knew the Coutins. 

I have found Louis — but dead. Let me tell 
you; 

I met some of the ninety-first Infantry. I 
spoke to one of them whom I had seen be- 
fore near Charleville. I asked him where he 
was wounded. He said, "I've got a bullet in 
the arm". Then he told me of his campaign. 
He said, "What I regret the most is my dear- 
est comrade who fell at my side with a splinter 
of shell in the stomach." Then he named Louis 
Coutin who lived in La Cachette. 

When he named our brother I did not know 
what to say. I listened. Then he told me 
that he had fought like a lion — afraid of 
nothing. Then he said, he spoke often of us. 
Then I told him I was his brother. Then he 
embraced me for us all. That, dear brother, is 
the way Louis died. 

The sergeant in his section took all his papers 
and sent them to his wife. 

Paul you must answer me at once. I know 
that you have been wounded. I hope you are 
better, and that this will find you about again. 
Don't fail to write me. 

I am in the trenches, not thirty yards from 
the Bodies. So many as I can lay hands on, 
so many less. I shall avenge Louis. 

I am so glad to have found Blanche and 
[120] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Remond, we will write to each other often 
now. 

I close wishing you a prompt recovery. Your 
brother who embraces you with all his heart, 
Alfred Coutin 
332 Inf. 17th. Comp. 
61st. Div. 

Postal Sector 103. 

And to Paul's prompt reply came the fol- 
lowing from the valiant father of five small 
children, left motherless through grief to be 
cared for in a foundling asylum, then within 
the enemy's lines. 

Monday, November 9th, 1914. 
Dear Paul : — 

I am sending you a line to say that we are to 
be relieved to-morrow. As soon as I get to 
cover I will write you. It is much easier. For 
with the nights we've just been through, 
drenched to the skin, and bombardment all 
day long, it's an infernal place to work in. 
Those pigs of Germans sow their shells all over 
the place without doing any damage. I think 
if they are artillery men at all, they must be- 
long to the class of 1915, for my kid could do 
as much as they with their guns. More noise 
than harm. Let me tell you I had the nerve to 
go fishing right under their noses. At night — 
[121] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

rain. I made a fine catch. You can bet the 
next night I went back, each time with much 
precaution. You must really love fishing to 
throw a line within twenty yards of them. I 
caught a "Rosette" that weighed over a pound. 
It made an infernal racket. I saw the moment 
when I'd have to drop it and quit. I stayed 
on just the same, my rifle beside me; that's the 
only friend I know. 

Later. 
Dear Paul: — 

I hope my line will find you. As soon as I 
get to cover I'll write. I will tell you every- 
thing since my departure from Rethel. I've 
been some distance; at least twice around the 
world. You will see, it's very interesting. 
We've been very lucky. 

Send a word of greeting from me to all those 
who write you. Blanche writes me that she is 
going to send you something. I don't know 
just what. I close with an embrace, 

Your brother Alfred. 

Three consecutive bright days put the finish- 
ing touches to the convalescence of many men 
who did not realise that health could return so 
rapidly. The air was crisp and bracing and 
there was no need of coaxing them abroad. 
[122] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

They went gladly, seeking occupation to keep 
them stirring, anxious to be of use. 

All the leaves were swept from the imme- 
diate vicinity of the house, and a fatigue party 
was organized to eliminate them from the eight 
hundred yards of driveway that leads to our 
farthest gate. George, as head gardener, 
supervised the work, and it was while accom- 
plishing this task that the idea of setting up a 
steeple chase in the grande allee and invit- 
ing my greyhounds to participate originated 
in the heads of these French sportsmen. 

Accordingly boards and brushwood were col- 
lected, and hurdles grading from two to seven 
feet were established at even intervals all along 
the line. Both dogs were sadly out of training 
and Tiger balked at the high jumps. But 
Clarice, daughter of Jumper, delighted our 
eyes by the graceful way she accomplished the 
feats. Even Betsy, the bull dog, wanted to be 
in the game while the dignified old foxhound 
only sniffed at these unheard-of proceedings 
and took his way into the woods, unmolested. 

Decidedly Tiger must be limbered up, so he 
was put through a course of training and 
coaxed to accomplish another foot each day. 
[123] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

One afternoon he was in the act of clearing the 
sixth hurdle, when from the distance the voice 
of the old fox hound warned us he had located 
something, and ten seconds later a long, lithe 
hare darted from the bushes and leaped to the 
other side of the road. 

Tiger had seen him and needed no persuasion 
to take the seventh obstacle. All the boys lad 
caught sight of him as well, and steeple chase 
was forgotten in the pursuit of a much more 
important sport — real live coursing in the 
open country. 

Not since that eventful day when Godec and 
his men had nearly lost their places, had the 
word "hunting" ever been mentioned. But 
now the movement was so spontaneous that it 
would have been folly to try to suppress it. 

They were off! 

What a wild merry chase that animal led 
them. Up hill, down dale, at one time almost 
into a stable door, at another through the 
toughest thicket at the extreme end of our 
grounds. As though previously arranged it 
took its homeward course straight down the 
long avenue, and literally bumped into little 
Betsey, who true to the traditions of her race, 
[124] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

struck her teeth into whatever came her way, 
and held on. It happened to be the hare's ear, 
and while she hadn't strength enough to pin 
him to the ground she refused to let go, and he 
was unable to shake her off. He had to carry 
her with him in his flight, which, however, was 
considerably impeded by the fourteen pounds 
of bull dog that was rolling by his side. This 
gave Tiger a chance to redeem himself and 
pouncing upon his prey he raised him in his 
mouth, and with Betsy who still refused to let 
go, madly clinging to its ear, he proudly laid 
the fruit of two hours coursing at my feet. 

That night as we clustered about the fire 
and waited for the chestnuts we had buried in 
the ashes to roast, I gazed at the then vigorous 
faces of our patients and decided once and for- 
ever that fresh air and exercise are really 
wonderful remedies when properly adminis- 
tered. 



[125] 



Three times during the same week our 
doctor was called to headquarters. Each time 
he returned his face was grave and anxious 
looking, and on the evening of his third visit I 
could no longer refrain from asking questions. 
I feared lest he had heard some ill news of our 
armies and hesitated to alarm us. 

"No bad tidings from the front, doctor, I 
hope?" 

"No. No indeed." 

"Nothing new as far as we are concerned?" 

"If new means the evacuation of our present 
contingent, yes." 

Though I had daily expected word to this 
effect, it was something of a shock when it 
came. One cannot live in constant contact with 
such good humored lads as ours, have cared for 
their every want, brought them back to health, 
besides participating in their joys and sorrows, 
without feeling a pull at one's heartstrings on 
receiving word that they are considered fit to 
rejoin the ranks. 

"When are they to go ?" 
[126] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Within the next day or two." 

"And what is to become of us, our hospital, 
afterwards?" 

"That depends entirely on you." 

"On me." 

"Yes." 

"How can it? I'm at the disposal of head- 
quarters." 

"Well, my instructions to-night are to ask 
you to pay a visit to the 'Medecin-Chef to- 
morrow. I've brought you back a passport and 
the pass word." 

Seven o'clock the next morning found me on 
the front seat of our little farm trap, with 
Chou as driver and companion. Not that there 
was any danger should I have chosen to go 
alone. Chou's presence on this occasion was 
due to the fact that during the night he had de- 
veloped an ulcerated tooth, and his face was 
swollen beyond recognition. The nearest dent- 
ist was at Chateau Thierry, so naturally I had 
not hesitated to take him with me. 

How strange it seemed to be jogging along 

in this primitive fashion on roads we had so 

often and so comfortably travelled in our 

motor. How strange never to meet a vehicle 

[127] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

other than an army supply cart, or a wood 
truck. 

This was my first visit to the city of Jean 
La Fontaine since it had become a hospital 
centre, and my ride along the river front 
showed me that not a single house had been 
exempt from shell fire during the battle of the 
Marne. But one could see that each proprietor 
was doing his utmost to repair the exterior 
damage, at least, and six weeks later on another 
visit I found everything apparently restored 
to its normal condition. 

Headquarters was at the Hotel Dieu, and it 
was there that Chou deposited me shortly after 
nine o'clock, with instructions to return for me 
within an hour, he driving off in quest of a 
dentist. 

To reach the doctor's office I crossed the 
court and on entering the establishment was 
surprised to find myself in the presence of the 
wounded immediately on stepping into the 
vestibule. I was hurried down a little dark 
passage at the end of which I was ushered into 
a dingy, ill-lighted hall room occupied by the 
doctor and his three secretary-orderlies. 

Doctor L. apologised for receiving me in 
[128] 







iyf 



\ 



9 



! 



'4 



' - rW 



A 




sm 4mm, 






I 






O^ , 



NOT A SINGLE HOUSE HAD BEEN 
EXEMPT FROM SHELL-FIRE 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

such humble quarters — explained that every 
other available space was necessary for hospital 
needs, and then went straight to the point of 
my visit. 

"Madame Huard, I sent for you to tell you 
that we are going to evacuate your entire hos- 
pital." 

"Very well, doctor." 

"But that is not the chief reason why I have 
asked you to make this tiresome trip. I am 
very well satisfied with the way Annex Num- 
ber Seven has functioned, but I want to ask you 
personally to make a bigger sacrifice for our 
country." 

"Certainly Doctor, what?" 

"Take contagious and infectious cases." 

"Which kind?" 

"Typhoid." 

"Why shouldn't I?" 

"Well, it's not the most agreeable thing in the 
world to ask a woman to sacrifice her home, her 
linen, and perhaps her life in order to care for 
contagious diseases. But I throw myself on 
your mercy. The quantities of wounded alone 
far surpass any calculation, and inoculation 
against Typhoid was rare three months ago 
[129] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 



when the war broke out. In consequence we 
are deluged. As you have no doubt observed, 
every available corner has been utilised and 
this is a hospital. In a few moments I will 
go with you and show you how really necessary 
it is that some one come to our assistance." 

"But, Doctor I am not protesting, I'm here 
to receive orders." 

"Good, how many beds have you now?" 

"Forty-five occupied, we might be able to 
make it fifty." 

"Could you make it sixty without any mate- 
rial assistance from us? We have nothing to 
offer to set up the establishment." 

I said I could ; under such circumstances one 
must never say "I'll try". 

I followed the doctor through the narrow 
hallway. A second glance at the vestibule told 
me that not only was every bed occupied, but 
there were men on stretchers in every corner. 
My guide led the way down the hill, and then 
we climbed the steps of the Municipal theatre, 
where we came upon the newest evacuated, 
perhaps two or three hundred of them, reclin- 
ing on the straw which had practically turned 
the place into a stable. 

[130] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"All typhoid cases, Madame Huard, and 
doctors are so scarce! We need every one 
we've got to operate on the wounded, so what 
are these poor devils to do? Most of the 
school-houses and public buildings in this town 
are full to overflowing, and more are coming 
in all the time." 

So many pairs of wistful, yearning eyes were 
turned in my direction — so many stifled cries of 
"Water" "Water", came from lips that be- 
longed to inert bodies stretched out, without 
even the possibility of removing their boots! 

The doctor saw I was touched. 

"Could you double your number of beds?", 
said he, turning about sharply. "Sixty pa- 
tients are too few for one doctor, considering 
the emergency." 

A hundred and twenty typhoid patients! 
The space I possessed, but what about the beds, 
linen and so forth? In a second I imagined 
that perhaps we might beg such things in our 
vicinity — and experience had taught me that 
anything one can conceive is realisable. 

"Yes, I can make it one hundred and twenty 
beds, but I cannot guarantee to furnish the 
necessary help to run the establishment. It can 
[131] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 

be done if you will send us some more infir- 
miers" 

The doctor shook his head. 

"Impossible, we've not enough here now." 

"I realise that", said I. "Madame Guix and 
I stand willing to do our share, but if you take 
all our men from us you, best of anyone know 
that there is a limit to human endurance." 

"How many orderlies have you now?" 

"Four good ones, and a sergeant." 

"They can remain." 

"Surely, but they hardly suffice for forty, 
much less three times that many patients." 

The doctor wrinkled his brow. 

"Among those I am going to evacuate, are 
there any whose chronic condition will send 
them back to their barracks rather than to 
the front?" 

"Yes, three or four." 

"Then keep them; use them." 

And holding up his hand to prevent my 
thanking him — 

"No, don't tell me about them, I don't want 

to know. I'm not supposed to know. I've even 

got to pretend I don't know. Each of us has 

got to do what he or she can do to help. If I 

[132] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

find we can spare anyone from here later on, I 
shall remember you. Evacuate all the best 
to-morrow, and I'll give you three days to pre- 
pare. Expect fifty men by Saturday noon. 
Good-bye Madame, you know how grateful I 
am!" 

I walked out into the street, fairly dizzy 
from what I had seen — dazed by the thoughts 
of the responsibility I had just assumed. 

The street was empty. Chou was not at his 
post. I shook myself a trifle and gazed right 
and left. No, I was not dreaming, there was 
no one to be seen. 

Perhaps he's had to wait his turn and there 
are many to be treated before him. So solilo- 
quising I started down the hill. At the bottom 
I questioned some one as to the whereabouts of 
the dentist. 

No civilians' dentist left. They had never 
had occasion to need the military specialist — 
and like phrases greeted my various inquiries, 
and at the end of a half hour I was no wiser 
than before. 

I returned to the Hotel Dieu where a sister 
informed me that he was at Barracks A. 

I crossed the city only to be sent in another 

[ 13*3 ] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

direction, and finally on the opposite side of the 
river, in a little, dingy street, I came upon my 
horse and trap, drawn up in front of a solemn 
building, over the door of which floated the tri- 
color. 

Without hesitating I entered. On my ap- 
pearance, Chou who was seated at the other end 
of the hall, jumped up and greeted me as 
though I were a long lost parent, fairly shriek- 
ing; 

"I knew you'd come, I knew you'd come !" 

"What's the trouble, can't you find a dentist? 
Why didn't you meet me as I told you?" 

"They wouldn't let me", and he pointed to a 
sergeant who, a la Godec, was scribbling labor- 
iously on some neat looking registers. 

"Is that so, sergeant?" said I addressing the 
person in question, who promptly rose after 
carefully wiping his pen. 

"I was merely explaining to this chap that 
we have received word that your hospital is to 
be evacuated to-morrow, and that our station 
trap is to help in the moving. Now, if he stays 
here that makes one less for the horses to drag. 
I hardly see the necessity of his returning." 

How could he ? How was it possible for him 
[134] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

to appreciate Chou's feelings at being torn 
from his friends, his chateau, without a parting 
word. How could he have guessed that if I had 
been allowed but one orderly, I certainly would 
have chosen Chou among all the rest. 

"I see", said I. 

Chou's face fell, his great, round blue eyes 
took on such a pathetic expression. 

"That's all very well", I continued, "But how 
am I going to explain his absence to our doctor, 
and how are you going to account for the miss- 
ing evacuation ticket that must be given to the 
men in person?" 

Chou's expression was a marvel to behold. 
The sergeant's was one of disgust ; he evidently 
didn't care to have his authority questioned. 
If it had not been risking complications, I fancy 
Chou would have clapped his hands and 
jumped for joy. 

"I shall report this to my superior at once." 

"Certainly, but mind I don't do likewise, 
and get you reprimanded for assuming too 
much authority." 

The sergeant was stunned. He looked at me 
from head to foot and decided that argument 
might lead to disturbance, so jerking over his 
[135] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

shoulder the words "Released", he returned to 
his papers. Chou joined me and together we 
started homeward. 

A long wail of despair rose from forty pairs 
of lips when the announcement of departure 
was made after dinner that evening. Of course, 
they understood and accepted the situation, 
which had been a foregone conclusion for some 
time now. 

"Pity I couldn't get typhoid", lamented one. 

"If I'd been born ten years sooner, I'd be fit 
for the auxiliary service by now!" declared 
some one else for the benefit of Godec and his 
acolytes. 

I dared not tell them that I had permission 
to keep four. Chou and Theirage, Jeantot and 
Dubuis had been informed of my intention, but 
under penalty of being dismissed with the 
others, had been told to hold their tongues. In 
making out his list the sergeant was to reserve 
them for the last waggon load which, of course, 
would never go. 

Luncheon next day was a dismal meal, and 

before it was finished we could hear the rumble 

of the approaching carts. There was an extra 

cup of coffee for each and the whole repast 

[136] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

topped off with a sip of peach brandy, which 
came in most appropriately. 

Adieux were affectionate but not effeminate. 
I procured a blank book which I turned into 
a guests' record, each one proudly inscribing' 
his name and address, so that to-day I treasure 
it as one of my proudest war souvenirs. 

"Good-bye, good-bye!" they called. "A la 
victoire! Don't forget to write to us." 

We stood and waved them out of sight. 

The next couple of days we were deluged 
with affectionate greetings on picture post 
cards. Some wrote letters which I fondly cher- 
ish, and for nearly three years I have been in 
constant correspondence with a dozen or more 
of the boys. Now and again a regular letter 
ceases to come. The first week I am not 
anxious. Then perhaps a month slips by — still 
nothing appears. I need not seek the reason, 
I know it but too well ! 

From the Dardanelles, from Monastir, from 
Russia as well as from the battle fronts of 
Verdun and the Somme have come reiterations 
of undying appreciation. Their unstinted 
gratitude has repaid us a hundred fold for the 
little we did for them. 

[137] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Sergeant Godec and his men returned suc- 
cessful from their expedition in quest of beds 
and bedding — but anyone who had ever visited 
a modern equipped sanitorium, or to whom the 
word hospital might mean long rows of small 
white enamelled beds, would certainly have 
laughed if he could have seen the assortment 
that fell to our lot. Most of them were wooden. 
Some hand carved and dating from the eigh- 
teenth century. The majority were of heavy 
red mahogany, and varied tremendously in 
width, so that our most careful arrangement 
could only produce an uneven unsatisfactory 
appearance in the wards. 

Every available space in the chateau was 
utilised; the doctor and the pharmacist agree- 
ing to share the same room, since they were all 
large, and partitions few. 

On Friday afternoon we were in the act of 
counting and marking sheets when a telephone 
call from headquarters announced the imme- 
diate arrival of forty men ; almost a day sooner 
than we expected. 

They came just as did the others, but when 
the army carts had halted and the curtains were 
pulled aside, they remained motionless in their 
[138] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

seats — poor human wrecks — unconscious of 
time, place or surroundings — so accustomed to 
being jostled and jolted, first in one vehicle 
then in another, that they could hardly believe 
that they had stopped for good. We were 
obliged to help them down. 

They came without knapsacks or guns, which 
followed in an open rig, and from the colour of 
the tags tied to their buttonholes we knew that 
we had to do with severe cases of typhoid, 
though to prevent discouragement, the descrip- 
tion on the card ran : — 

"Embarras gastrique aigu." 

Not a sound from any mouth, not a smile on 
any lips — the vacant stare in their eyes be- 
tokening their total submission to the malady 
that had gripped and strangled their every 
effort to resist. Gently we led them in. 

It would be useless to try to depict their un- 
shaven, unkempt condition ; as long as they had 
a spark of fight left they had remained in the 
trenches, unwilling to complain, living in hope 
of being "Better tomorrow", and, as is gener- 
ally the case, lingering until medical assistance 
could no longer prevent, but merely witness the 
rapid development of their sinister ill. 
[139] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

One or two amongst them were chewing 
vaguely at the unlighted butts of cigarettes. 
A certain very youthful chap was staring 
wildly at an orange which he shifted from 
hand to hand, uncertain what he should do 
with it, too tired to make the mental effort 
necessary to find out; while others laying eyes 
on the chairs in the vestibule, quickly seated 
themselves, vainly trying to gather enough 
strength and courage to "Move on" should 
we so desire. 

It would have been futile to attempt medical 
examination, or to let them even approach their 
beds before having been subjected to Chou 
and his partners who had chosen to superin- 
tend the baths — no easy undertaking when one 
considers that all the water had to be heated 
in huge clothes boilers on the kitchen range, or 
over the open fire, and then carried some hun- 
dred yards to the only bath tub that had re- 
mained intact. 

Shoes, caps, top-coats and shirts were 
dropped in tiny heaps outside the bathroom 
door, to be gingerly removed for disinfection — 
perhaps disposed of altogether. And then the 
patients were gently deposited in the luke- 
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MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

warm, disinfected water, without removing 
another stitch. Those who find these details 
too disgusting, pray jump to the end of the 
paragraph, but now that war has become a 
Metier, and organization and efficiency are no 
longer vain words, it seems unfair to those who 
willingly laboured against such tremendous 
odds, not to state exactly the situations with 
which they had to cope. Here were men come 
to us in November with typhoid already de- 
veloped to its worst stages, and before we could 
even take their temperature it was necessary to 
remove with pincers the underclothing they had 
put on before the battle of the Marne ! 

Night closed in, and the dinner hour came 
and passed unheralded, unheeded, before the 
four wards containing ten patients each, were 
carefully inspected and their numerous treat- 
ments methodically noted by the sergeant. In 
most cases the men were so weak that they had 
to be raised up and propped during the exami- 
nations, and when finally we found ourselves 
alone in the vestibule, Godec could not help 
exclaiming — " 

"What a difference from day before yester- 
day!" 

[141] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

What a difference indeed ! 

It did not take us long to find out what real 
hospital work meant. The forty men to whom 
we had wished such cheerful "Bon voyage" 
two days since, had been as forty guests at a 
house party. Now we had real patients, incap- 
able of the slightest effort, to whom we had to 
be everything, for whom everything had to 
be done. 

During the first nights at least it was decided 
that scrupulous watch be kept, and the pharma- 
cist and one orderly assumed the guard of the 
two upstairs wards, while to "La petite ja- 
quette" and myself fell the vigil of the draw- 
ing-room and the library. Madame Guix and 
the doctor would alternate with us so that none 
should have two consecutive nights without 
sleep. 

At ten o'clock when I took my post, almost 
all the men had fallen into that heavy, unrest- 
ful slumber that betrays utter exhaustion. For 
the sake of economy, as well as for their com- 
fort, the room was lighted only by a small 
veilleuse — or night lamp, and the glare of a 
crackling grate fire, our only means of heating. 
Our supply of wood for the night evenly sawed 
[142] 







VIEW OF SOISSONS FROM THE 
FONT DE VILLENEUVE 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

and carefully stacked on either side of the 
chimney, looked most formidable. 

The drawing-room and the library com- 
municate by two large double doors, which 
when thrown open made it quite possible to 
hear everything that was going on in either 
room. From sheer force of habit I elected 
place in the former, and went to work putting 
my table in order, arranging the medicine 
glasses, and carefully noting the exact hour at 
which the first dose was to be given. "La petite 
jaquette" after arranging the coals and having 
made a round to assure himself that all was 
well, took place opposite me on the hearth, 
snuggled down in his chair and in less than no 
time had dozed off. 

Presently the only sound in the room was the 
ticking of an alarm clock on the mantle, the 
embers falling in the hearth and the heavy, 
uneven breathing of forty sleeping men. 

"Water, water", faintly called a thin rasping 
voice at one end of the ward. 

I complied with the request, and in spite of 
my every effort to be as quiet as possible, the 
man in the next bed stirred, rolled over, and 
said "I, too". 

[143] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

I raised them and held the refreshing liquid to 
their lips, and as soon as they had drunk they 
fell over as though lifeless, on their pillows. 

On the way back to my table to replenish my 
glasses, one lad sat bolt upright and in imper- 
ative tone demanded that his thirst be 
quenched. 

"Water, I say, give me water!" 

In a few moments silence again reigned save 
for a long, low groan, an incomprehensive mur- 
mur, which soon died away. 

The unexpected roar of a heavy gun, which 
seemed to be much nearer than ever before, sur- 
prised me somewhat, and aroused "La petite 
jaquette", who rubbed his eyes and stared 
about him in an uncertain fashion. 

"Pauline, Pauline", wailed a high pitched 
voice in the other room — "Pauline, ma petite 
Pauline" — 

' 'Water — water — quick — I 'm suffocating." 

"I believe one of them is talking in his sleep", 
volunteered my companion, rising in the semi- 
darkness to take up his duties in the adjoining 
ward. 

Time slipped by rapidly, so busy was I at- 
tending to the various wants. Suddenly I was 
[ 144] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

alarmed by a sharp cry and a crashing sound 
behind me, followed by an indignant oath. I 
made a dash in the direction from which the 
noise came and arrived on the door sill to see 
"La petite jaquette" standing staring at the 
floor, while in every bed a shaggy haired indi- 
vidual was sitting up looking wildly about him. 

"That's the first, boys", called one — "Look 
out for the second ! There it comes. Can't you 
see it? Quick, to the right I say! Run, run! 
Where's my canteen? Who took it? My can- 
teen, give it back to me, I tell you." 

"What started this", I asked of "La petite 
jaquette". "That noise, that crash a moment 
ago, what were they?" 

I was obliged to talk out loud to make him 
hear, the delirious men were carrying on so. 

"Only a glass that slipped out of a fellow's 
hand onto the floor. He insisted on taking it." 

Quickly we passed from bed to bed, smooth- 
ing a brow, patting a hand, gently persuading 
them to regain the reclining position. Some 
resisted a bit, while others literally snapped 
back on to their places like puppets on a wire. 

This ordeal over, we returned to our places 
by the fire. 

[ 145] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Pauline, Pauline" — murmured in low 
agonizing tones, the same tenor voice. We had 
become accustomed to it now. 

A wild shriek of coarse laughter rent the air 
and brought me to my feet with a bound. 

"Ha, ha, ha, that's good! Now then boys, 
we're off! En avant, en avant — Vive la 
France — oh, oh!" Then lapsing into a sort of 
hiccough, "Mama, Mama; Mama, don't you 
hear me?" it sobbed. 

"Water, O God how thirsty I am!" 

Again I began my rounds, and having fin- 
ished I was obliged to replace the tiny wick in 
the night lamp which had flickered and gone 
out. As I turned to the table for a match, I 
was startled almost to screaming by the sight of 
a tall, gaunt figure draped in white, standing 
close beside me, his finger raised to his lips, 
enjoining me to silence. In all my life I had 
never seen anything that so resembled a ghost 
or a vision. The fire dancing in the grate gave 
out a queer, lugubrious light, which augmented 
the pallor of the face and gave a supernatural 
look to a pair of glassy blue eyes that were 
staring into vacancy. 

It took me a good quarter minute to pull my- 
[146] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

self together, steady my trembling hand, and 
light the match. The figure did not move. 

"Madame", hissed "La petite jaquette" in a 
forced whisper, peering into the room, "One of 
them's gone". He halted a second when he 
caught sight of the great, lanky black haired 
man, who did not move at his approach. 

"Oh, so there you are", exclaimed my aid in 
normal tones which brought me to myself. 

"Now then, right about, face — forward, 
march!", he continued. "No sleep walking al- 
lowed here. Into bed you go." 

I wiped the perspiration from my forehead 
and leaned against the table for support. 

But there was no respite. The same plaint- 
ive voice went right on calling that same 
woman's name! Some one tried to sing a 
French version of "Tipperary", and in the 
midst of it all would come strident cries of "At- 
tention! Bayonnettes fixes! No! No! No 
camarade! Sale Boche — " 

Almost all degenerated into troubled groan- 
ings and moanings. 

A strange scuffling sound, mingled with 
curses and an indefinable ejaculation, sent me 
quickly towards a bed on which was writhing 
[147] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

and wriggling a patient I had left calm but a 
ten seconds since. 

"No, you can't have me, you dirty German 
no! Gad, no." And the bed clothing which 
had hampered his movements suddenly giving 
way, he fell with a dull thud on the floor at my 
feet. 

"He's charging — hand to hand, living it all 
over again", whispered "La petite jaquette", as 
we picked up the unconscious mass and laid 
him gently on his cot. 

I returned to my table and looked at my 
watch. A quarter of two. Three hours more 
at least before dawn. My companion was 
kneeling on the hearth, setting some water to 
boil. The agonizing, heart-rending, soul 
wracking cries had redoubled. As though to 
drown their agony, the great guns boomed 
louder and louder. My eyes wandered to the 
window. Only darkness outside. At the same 
time, and without turning my head, I stretched 
out my hand to grasp the back of my chair, 
snatching it away instantly, my very heart 
ceasing to beat from terror. I had touched 
something warm and clammy. 

"Jesas", shrieked "La petite jaquette", 
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MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

scrambling to his feet in such haste that he 
overturned the kettle on the fire, and a sizzling 
sound accompanied by a puff of smoke, quickly 
filled the room. 

"Lord, how he frightened me", gasped the 
injirmier, and at that moment I looked up and 
beheld the same white draped figure standing 
between us like a statue. It was his hand I 
had touched a second since. 

My teeth were fairly chattering from fright. 
I mopped my face, ground my teeth, and tried 
my best to control myself. Our ghost was no 
sooner put to bed than we could hear his bare 
feet walking on the hardwood floor. 

"He frightens me", blubbered my little 
helper. "There's something uncanny about 
him! Oh, there he comes again." 

This was more than I could stand. Like a 
thunderbolt the sensation of my loneliness, my 
utter isolation from anything familiar, burst on 
me, enveloped me. I was afraid. The room 
seemed suddenly to have become very warm 
and stifling, everything whirred in front of me. 
Air, air, I thought as I hurried toward the 
door leading into the vestibule. 

I turned the knob, took a step forward. My 
[149] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

feet encountered something that resisted. I 
was conscious enough to know that whatever 
was there was moving, alive! The cold air 
rushed in upon me — gave me strength enough 
to react — a second later, a long, thin tongue 
was licking my hand. 

Tiger! 

Tears of joy rushed to my eyes and rolled 
unheeded down my cheeks as I gathered my 
faithful greyhound into my arms. My empty 
bed, no night lamp in my room, had told him 
something was amiss. He seemed to feel I 
needed a friend, and he had come. 

It was all over in a moment. My brain 
cleared up, and I hurried back into the room, 
ashamed of my puerility, mortified at having 
abandoned my post and my companion, 
anxious to find out whether or not my absence 
had been perceived. What had seemed hours 
to me, must have been a very brief space of time 
for "La petite jaquette" was stirring up the 
fire exactly as though nothing had happened. 
With joy in my heart I leaned down and patted 
Tiger, confident that he would never tell. 

Such was my real initiation to the career of 
[150] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

military trained nurse. I fancy he who re- 
ceives the baptism of fire must undergo some- 
thing of the same sensation, and I wonder 
sometimes if it were not easier for the soldier, 
for seldom or never under such circumstances 
does he find himself alone. 

I slept late into the morning. When I came 
downstairs two more waggon loads of the same 
dilapidated looking soldiers had been disem- 
barked and were patiently waiting in the vesti- 
bule their turn to be made clean. 

While sipping my tea, Yvonne announced 
that Father Poupard was in the kitchen and 
had asked to see me in private. 

"He won't tell any of us what it's about. 
He's been over here asking for Madame three 
times since seven o'clock this morning." 

"Show him into my office." 

The old man rose and jerked his cap from 
his head when I entered. 

"Good morning, Madame." 

"Good morning, Father Poupard. In what 
way can I be of service to you?" 

Pere Poupard fumbled with his cap, evi- 
dently embarrassed, searching for words with 
which to begin. 

[151] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Madame Huard", he blurted out at last. 
"Perhaps you'll be hard with me, but I hope 
you won't. But I've been watching pretty 
closely what's going on over here at the cha- 
teau, and though nobody says anything it 
strikes me there's a good deal of contagious 
disease in the air. Now, it isn't right for you 
not to be protected, so I've brought you over 
a bottle of my home-brew disinfectant." 

Here he fumbled for the buttons of his waist- 
coat, and produced from beneath his outer 
shirt, a dust covered bottle of brandy. 

"With that I saved everybody in the village 
during the cholera siege in '85. Just ask any- 
one, they'll tell you whether or not I'm speak- 
ing the truth. Thanks to this there wasn't a 
single death in the place. Would you do me 
the honor of accepting this bottle?" 

I smiled an assent. How could I refuse? 

"Half a glass in the morning before break- 
fast", he continued. "A drop or two before 
and after each meal — and just before going to 
bed — and I'll guarantee you'll be fit as a 
fiddle." 



[152] 



VI 

It was not many days before every bed in 
hospital Number seven was occupied, the 
chateau filled to capacity. With three times as 
many patients as before, and the staff remain- 
ing the same it was necessary to put the great- 
est efficiency into the regulating of all service, 
no matter how trifling. 

To begin with, each one was allotted his spe- 
cial task, and from the doctor down to the 
kitchen maid, regular hours for performing 
regular duties were established. Under no cir- 
cumstances was anyone to overwork one day 
just because he didn't feel tired, and in con- 
sequence be laid up next day. We could not 
afford it. 

In due time our patients were classified ac- 
cording to their degree of illness. There were 
light cases, cases where the malady was still in 
the stage of development, and there were 
severe cases. Not that typhoid at all times is 
not a serious proposition, but by severe cases, 
I mean actually alarming. There were eigh- 
teen or twenty of the latter, and for conven- 
[153] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

ience sake they were kept in the downstairs 
wards. It goes without saying, that it was here 
Madame Guix and I spent the greater part of 
our time. Upstairs it was merely a question of 
giving a spoonful of medicine at a stipulated 
time — and Mademoiselle Alice Foerter was 
quite capable of superintending such matters. 

I had never taken care of contagious disease 
before, in fact apart from certain elementary 
rules of hygiene born in the Anglo Saxon, I 
had no training save the little Madame Guix 
offered in the few days that preceded our 
evacuation before the enemy, and what dire 
necessity had taught me when on the highroad. 
I am, therefore, no judge of the methods we 
employed in our treatment. The results ob- 
tained were phenomenal. This then speaks for 
their efficacy. 

It must also be taken into consideration that 
we had at our disposal but the contents of two 
pharmaceutical kits; that headquarters could 
send us little or nothing; that certain conven- 
iences, such as agreeable disinfectants, were al- 
most totally lacking. For personal use we had 
Javel water, and considered ourselves lucky; 
for soaking all our sheets, pillow cases, hand- 
[154] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

kerchiefs and underwear before giving them 
out to be washed, we had a solution of iron per- 
chloride. That was all. 

It was the question of linen that became an 
almost continual source of annoyance. From 
the peasants in the entire outlying vicinity we 
had managed to beg or borrow two hundred 
and fifty pairs of sheets. Calculating thus, 
each bed had its pair, a pair for change, and 
then little or nothing was left in reserve. This 
would not have been so bad if we had had a 
fully equipped drying room, but we hadn't. 
Everything was hung out of doors, and at this 
season of the year in the North Eastern part of 
France, it is not unusual to have rain every day. 
Besides, what is one extra pair of sheets in a 
malignant typhoid ward? With despair in our 
hearts we used to watch the mist rise very early 
in the afternoon, or observe the weather-cock 
gradually turning to "Unsettled". Practic- 
ally all our outdoor exercise consisted in a hur- 
ried visit to the drying paddock, and he who 
returned with some article whose moist state 
could be terminated comfortably before an 
open fire, was lauded to the skies. Why didn't 
we use our numerous empty stables? For the 
[155] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

good reason that open air was far better than 
damp interiors. My stock of coal was fast 
diminishing ; even the dry wood in the big shed 
was beginning to dwindle, and green wood only 
produced smoke — not heat I We tried it. 

But to return to our patients ; few, if any, of 
the twenty men in the downstairs wards had the 
slightest notion where they were. Delirium, 
which commenced almost immediately they fell 
asleep, was constant and continued for several 
weeks. To their appeals for water we replied 
promptly at all times, but never gave it pure, 
always one third red wine. Besides the wine 
four drops tincture of iodine diluted in water 
and taken internally as disinfectant, the "Po- 
tion de Todd", which I fancy contained some 
spirituous stimulant, figured very largely in 
our treatment. In cases where the heart weak- 
ened, hypodermic injections of camphorated 
oil were administered frequently. 

The most important feature of our regime, 
however, was the baths. We were fortunate in 
having spring water piped into the house, and 
certain cases demanded that cloths wrung out 
in the icy liquid, be placed at regular intervals 
on the abdomen: other patients had to be en- 
[156] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

tirely enveloped in cold, damp sheets; while 
still others were placed in a bath-tub and kept 
there until a shiver was visible on the skin. 

The cloths and the sheets were an easy task, 
but it takes more than two women to lift the 
average man from a reclining posture, even 
when he is willing — and certainly two nurses 
and two orderlies were none too many to care- 
fully transport ten, and sometimes fifteen, limp 
bodies three times a day from bed to bath, from 
bath to bed. There are other and simpler 
means, I know, but they were not at our dis- 
posal. We did as we were ordered and with 
what we had. This rapidly developed me a 
strong pair of biceps, but I have serious doubts 
as to its benefit for chronic appendicitis. My 
how my back ached the first few days ! 

Naturally, other and graver complications 
developed; things that I am not at liberty to 
discourse upon here, but of such alarming 
nature that one morning after his visit, the 
doctor on leaving our last ward, shook his head 
in a desultory fashion. 

"Better tell the sergeant to look up the ad- 
dresses of their relatives in their military 
books." 

[157] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Is it as bad as that?" 

"Yes." 

"Must the sergeant do it?" 

"Why not?" 

"Because I should hate to receive the kind 
of letter he is capable of writing!" 

"I'm afraid you're sentimental, Madame. 
This is war you know." 

"Surely, but is there any objection to one of 
us doing it if we can find the time?" 

"Not the slightest, so long as it is done rap- 
idly. I dislike telegraphing, it frightens people 
so." 

"Then what exactly must I say?" 

"Tell them that soldier so and so is under 
treatment at this hospital. That should they 
feel inclined to make him a visit, we urge it to 
be done at once, and to use this letter as a pass- 
port to enter the army zone. Heaven knows 
by what means they will reach here. It seems 
only fair though to give them a chance to 

try." 

As I walked down the hall I heard the phar- 
macist give an order to have our round tower 
near the moat entirely cleaned out, and the 
downstairs room carefully white-washed. 
[ 158"] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"We'll use it for a mortuary chamber," was 
his last somewhat indifferent remark. 

My blood ran cold. To pass away on the 
"Field of Honor" with the din of battle, and 
the cries of victory ringing in one's ears, that 
was glorious! But to slowly flicker out from 
illness in a God-forsaken emergency hospital; 
that was ghastly. 

It should not be! We would redouble our 
efforts, strain every nerve to help the men 
fight for their lives by which they seemed to 
set so little store. They were too tired. 

Madame Guix and I wrote eight letters as 
directed. There should have been nine, but on 
looking into his military book we found that 
one poor little chap, a volunteer because of his 
youth, had no parents, no near relative. Only 
his boarding-house keeper. We would wait 
until the crisis was over before communicating 
with her. 

We hardly hoped for replies. I was there- 
fore much astonished when three days later, a 
tall, fine looking woman dressed in black was 
ushered into my office. I held out my hand. 

"I am Madame Godefroid. Martin Navez 
is my brother", said she looking fearlessly into 
[159] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

my eyes. "You wrote me to come. Am I too 
late? Do not be afraid to tell me the truth. I 
am strong." 

What a blessing to be able to say he was still 
alive, though, of course, far from being out of 
danger. 

Madame Godefroid gulped a sob, and two 
bright tears of joy trickled unheeded down her 
cheeks. "Thank God!", she said. "It is almost 
too good to believe. Tragedies in our family 
have been so frequent since August, I was pre- 
pared for the worst. Poor brother, he's all I've 
got left." 

"Had you other relatives in the war?" 

"Yes, four brothers." 

I did not have to ask the next question, the 
woman's expression told me that they had made 
the Supreme Sacrifice. 

"Martin is the oldest. They all did well but 
myself. He was a rich farmer. I, unfortu- 
nately, am only housekeeper for the Curate of 
Nogent-sur-Marne. That's not far from 
Paris. Monsieur le Cure got me a passport. I 
came in a cattle car." 

"You're not afraid of typhoid?" 

She shook her head — "No indeed". 
[160] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Would you care to go into the ward and see 
your brother? I fear he will not recognise you 
to-day. Perhaps you can come again. Will 
you stay and have luncheon with us ? I apolo- 
gise in advance for its simplicity, but such as it 
is you are very welcome." 

Madame Godefroid accepted, and then dis- 
appeared accompanied by Madame Guix. 

When we had finished luncheon, and the 
others had left us, I detained her a moment over 
our coffee cups. It was a treat to come in con- 
tact with such a simple, well-bred, kindly soul. 
Interest in a common cause, mutual apprehen- 
sions, quickly created an intimacy, and from 
her I learned that at the outbreak of the war, 
Navez and his four brothers, all wealthy far- 
mers, were living comfortably in the suburbs of 
Charleville. Four of them went to the front 
at once. Navez being fifty, was not called, 
but his only son, a lad of eighteen, enlisted al- 
most immediately. Brought up during the war 
of 1870 with a keen hatred of the Hun, Navez 
could not resist the temptation to join the 
colors, so, leaving a wife and two daughters he 
took service in the motor transports and had 
seen a hard campaign. 

[161] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Overworked, underfed, mentally tormented 
by fears for his family, bowed with grief at the 
loss of his brothers, he was a fit subject to fall 
victim to the typhoid scourge. 

"But", pursued his sister, without the slight- 
est trace of bitterness in her voice, "Perhaps 
he'll be sorry the Lord let him live when he 
knows." 

"Knows what?" 

The woman looked straight into the fire. 

"Knows that since he left the front his son 
has been made prisoner, and that a German 
shell not only destroyed his home, but killed his 
wife and both daughters ; I am a poor woman, 
I am all that he has left !" 

A gentle knocking at the door broke the 
tense silence which followed Madame Gode- 
froid's last words. At my summons Yvonne 
entered and said that a woman with a little 
girl awaited me. My visitor looked up and 
smiled. 

"Don't let me detain you, Madame. I wish 
I might stay and make myself useful, but it is 
impossible. I will come again if I may". 

"Surely, pray do not worry too much. I 
fancy the crisis is over." 

[162] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Against my will, she caught my hand and 
kissed it. 

Quite another sort of person had been shown 
into the office. I no sooner opened the door 
than a woman whose pent up emotions could no 
longer stand the strain, burst into tears, and 
sobbed, "Pierrot, my husband, my dear Pierrot, 
he was so good to me. Oh, oh, oh!" The little 
blonde headed child that clung to her skirts, 
seeing her mother's distress, suddenly hid her 
head and wailed — "Papa, my papa!" 

The whole thing was most distressing, most 
annoying. The woman, who belonged to the 
well-to-do working class, couldn't even pull 
herself together sufficiently to tell me her name 
and from whence she had come. I saw the 
moment when I should have to become severe. 

"Forgive me", she sobbed. "Forgive me, 
Madame. It's too dreadful." 

"But if you would only tell me the name of 
the patient you have come to see." 

"Parent, Pierre Parent, my husband. Oh, 
poor, poor Pierrot", she hiccoughed. "Forgive 
me, Madame, I cannot help it." 

I glanced at the list of names which the 
sergeant had placed on my desk. Alongside 
[163] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

each name was a note stating the degree of 
illness. 

Parent — Pierre Parent. I found it. Think- 
ing it was useless to be otherwise than frank, 
"Yes", said I, "He is here. Very ill but not 
despaired of. We have every hope of saving 
him." 

"Oh, thank you, Madame, for those kind 
words." And her tears flowed afresh. 

"But, calm yourself, do, since you have come 
for his sake, you mustn't let him see your face 
all swollen. It will only worry him and we can- 
not allow that." 

"Yes, that's it, I mustn't cry", and she wiped 
her face and the baby girl's, all in the same 
breath and with the same handkerchief. 

"I brought Suzanne with me. She's our 
only child. I wanted her to see her papa again, 
perhaps it'll be the last time. He loved her 
so!" And in spite of every effort the tears 
flowed anew. 

"I wouldn't take such a tragic view of the 
case", I urged. "While there is life, there is 
hope. And we will do everything in our power 
to save him. Now go and wash your face and 
come back again." 

[164] 



; 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

In a few moments she reappeared, a sight to 
behold, for in spite of the cold water her face 
was all puffed up, and in the hope of hiding it 
she had added a thick layer of white powder. 
At the sight of the long clean linen robe I 
offered her, and which, for safety's sake, must 
be abandoned before leaving the sick room — 
there was a new deluge — and if her anxiety had 
not been so intense, I should have been surely 
tempted to smile. The tears rolled down her 
cheeks, leaving great furrows behind them. 

I rang for an orderly, and told him to con- 
duct my guests to Madame Guix who was then 
on duty. In less than two minutes my nurse 
returned, saying that it would be impossible to 
admit the child to a ward where there were 
twenty typhoid patients. 

I had never given the matter a thought. 

ow stupid of me ! 

"Pierrot, poor Pierrot, it would do him so 
much good. Forgive me, Madame, — poor Su- 
zanne" — and then followed an argument in 
which I came out ahead only because I en- 
trenched myself behind "The doctor's orders". 
It was so hard to seem relentless. 

The visit over, Madame Parent felt much 
[165] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 

relieved. She said her husband had recognised 
her. While she was preparing to take her leave 
we discovered that by the way she had come, 
there was no return train that night, and I 
couldn't bear to think of her riding fifteen miles 
in a cart only to sit up all night in a little lonely 
way-station. But she didn't seem in the least 
to dread it. She was calmer now and so 
ashamed of having lost control of herself. 
Fearing, however, that the frail little girl might 
not be able to stand the strain, I sought a means 
of detaining them until morning. Nini and 
Yvonne needed no begging to "Double up" 
and offer one single bed to Madame Parent and 
her daughter, who couldn't find words enough 
to express their gratitude. 

It was a different woman who greeted us the 
next morning. Two nights and a day in a 
third-class compartment together with the 
agonizing moral suspense had completely un- 
nerved this plucky little person, who was so 
embarrassed at her unseeming behaviour that 
she blushed scarlet while trying to explain it 
to herself and me. 

"We were so happy, Pierre and I, before the 
war came. He and my brother were associated 
[166] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 



in business. We are packers and shippers at 
Le Mans. I have tried to keep things up, my 
father and an old workman have done what 
they could to help me, but it is quite a load. 
Then Jean was killed at the Marne and the 
burden grew doubly heavy, and when I got 
your letter I imagined Pierre was dead, and 
you didn't want to tell me. But that's all over 
now, he smiled at me. I told him not to worry, 
only to get well quick, and when he gets back 
he'll find that things have gone on just the 
same. They must, Madame, no matter what 
happens, else who is to look after the babies if 
the women don't do their part?" 

Simple, heroic words, so often repeated that 
they no longer seemed extraordinary. But it 
is such women as this that have made France 
what she is! 

The days succeeding these two visits were 
filled with tense anxiety. Five or six of our 
patients, among them Navez and Parent suc- 
cessfully passed the much dreaded crisis. The 
condition of most of the others remained sta- 
tionary, but three or four took a decided turn 
for the worst. A little middle-aged man called 
Cru, from Dunkerque, who on account of his 
[167] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

round shoulders, and long hooked nose re- 
sembled a human interrogation point, threat- 
ened congestion of the lungs ; Leon Lecucq, the 
very young lad who had no one in the world 
but his boarding-house keeper, and Jules 
Mackerey, a handsome blonde headed fellow, 
developed numerous sinister complications. 
Mackerey's symptoms were particularly alarm- 
ing on account of the rapidity with which they 
developed. As to Bonson, the tall, gaunt, 
artilleryman who had so frightened me the 
night of my first vigil, nothing in the world 
could keep him in bed, and I heartily thanked 
Heaven his ward was on the ground floor, for 
several times we caught him opening the win- 
dow and preparing to wander away, clothed 
but in his nightshirt. When put back, he 
would murmur something in Basque (as I 
learned afterwards) and stare at a fixed spot 
just beyond our heads. 

Monsieur Cru, as we all called him, (he was 
the only one we ever addressed other than by 
his christian or surname, why I cannot tell) 
was less delirious than the other and extremely 
easy to care for. We had no difficulty what- 
ever in getting him to submit to our very heroic 
[ 168] 




V I 



THE COLLEGE DOOR, SOI9SON9 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

treatment. I can still hear his high pitched 
tenor voice wavering — "C'est pour mon bien" 
— it's all for my good, whenever we did any- 
thing that was particularly disagreeable to him. 
Happy philosopher ! 

Leon Lecucq, on arriving and while waiting 
to be bathed had caught up a novel that hap- 
pened to be lying on the vestibule table, and 
from that moment throughout his entire illness 
refused to let go of it. What he imagined it 
was, I really couldn't say, but when we would 
approach his bed and uncover him for his bath 
he would draw himself up into a little bunch, 
and putting his book beneath him, sputter some 
indefinable phrases at whoever tried to take it 
from him. It was almost pitch-battle three 
times a day. 

The arrival of Bonson's mother was the only 
thing that for an instant distracted our atten- 
tion from our somewhat gloomy situation. 
The little, dark-skinned Basque woman, wear- 
ing her native costume and carrying a heavy 
market basket on either arm, had journeyed all 
the way from the Spanish border to embrace 
her only child. She spoke little or no French, 
but if one were to judge from her expression, 
[169] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

she was entirely master of her sentiments. 
They were hidden deep down in her heart, and 
not meant for public display. She gently 
kissed her big, suffering boy who failed to 
recognise her, emptied the fresh eggs, butter 
and apples from her baskets, put them at my 
disposal, and then went her way leaving behind 
a very agreeable impression. 

The gravity of the situation demanded the 
constant presence of our doctor who never 
went beyond the gates of our property for 
nearly six weeks. His reports were telephoned 
to headquarters, who in return sent us news of 
all kinds, the chief item of interest being the 
announcement that a new orderly, an extra, 
was shortly to join the contingent already at 
the chateau. 

The arrival of a recruit such as Barbarin was 
to us much like a gift from the Gods. He put 
new life and spirit into our overworked staff, 
who for the moment were somewhat worn out 
by long vigils and our ever increasing demands 
upon their strength. 

Short of stature, quick of movement, with a 
pair of bright eyes and an exceptionally mobile 
countenance, Barbarin with his many gestures 
[170] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

made us think of those masks belonging to the 
famous "Comedia dell' Arte." 

"Where do you come from?" I questioned. 

"Vaname" , was the brief reply. 

I still looked askance. That particular point 
in France was unknown to me. Barbarin saw 
my quandary. 

"Eh bien, quoi — Pantruche!" 

I was no wiser than before, and he knew it, 
so bursting with a rippling laugh, 

"That means Paris, of course." 

I might have guessed it. Who in the world 
but a Parisian could possess that love of in- 
trigue. 

"What is your trade?" 

"I don't belong to the trade." 
"You have sufficient fortune not to need one?" 

That was indeed a diplomatic stroke on my 
part, and a surprise even to Barbarin. He put 
one hand into his pocket and with the other 
stroked his beardless chin, and wondered 
whether or not I was chaffing him. He decided 
to try me out. 

"That depends on what day it is." 

"Oh, I see", said I catching his thought, 
"Then you follow a liberal career?" 
[171] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Yes", came the answer accompanied by a 
broad smile. 

"Which one, might I ask?" 

"The stage." 

"Ah!" 

"Yes, just before the war broke out, I was 
chief super at the Theatre de Belleville." 

I had great difficulty controlling my counte- 
nance. One reads about such people in books, 
of which Private Gaspard is a brilliant ex- 
ample, but seldom or ever hopes to come into 
actual contact with the real thing. 

"Are you married?" 

"Yes." 

"And your salary as super is sufficient to 
keep a wife, perhaps a family?" 

This may seem like a very bald interrogatory, 
but to the average "poilu" of Barb arm's class, 
it is on the contrary an appreciable mark of 
interest. 

"Ah, I couldn't live on that alone, but one 
must be versatile in this age. I used to do a 
very good business in toy rabbits." 

"What do you mean?" 

"You know those little rabbits that jump 
when you squeeze a rubber ball." 
[172] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Of course, I had seen them many times sold 
by hawkers beneath the arcades on the Rue de 
Rivoli. I nodded my assent. 

"They were good for a while, but last year 
trade was running low, and nobody seemed to 
invent anything new that was just as good, so 
in the daytime I took to doing wrestling 
matches with a friend on the public squares up 
by Belleville." 

"I see." 

"In July he got a sunstroke which laid him 
up, so I taught tango for a while, and then the 
war came along and I didn't have to look for 
another job." 

"Have you been to the front?" 

Barbarin proudly displayed a right hand on 
which the index finger was lacking. 

"Battle of the Marne", he continued glibly. 
"'Only time I ever regretted being born with 
legs! Wheels would have made it so much 
easier." 

His sincerity was as amusing as his good 
humour was infectious. He didn't seem to re- 
quire any instructions. In two hours' time he 
had visited the chateau in detail, joked with 
the help in the kitchen, and pronounced his 
[173] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

opinion on the final issue of not only the war, 
but each and every case of typhoid in our 
wards. 

Gentle in his movements, performing the 
most obnoxious duties with a smile and a caus- 
tic remark, he soon endeared himself not only 
to the officers and the staff, but to the sick men 
themselves, on account of his apparent intense 
interest in their individual cases. He had a 
kind word for all and was unsparing in time 
and pains so long as they aided in procuring the 
slightest pleasure to a patient. 

"Barbarin, give me a cigarette", pleaded a 
semi-convalescent to whose similar request the 
doctor had made a negative gesture. 

"You're too young", was the amiable reply, 
far less aggravating than a flat refusal. 

"Barbarin, did you ever have typhoid?", 
questioned a long, thin man whose feet stuck 
out beyond the iron bars of the bed. 

"Surely, three times when I was a kid, that's 
why I never grew any taller. You've got 
nothing to worry about!" 

"Barbarin, my bed's so hot, can't you do 
something for it?" wailed another. 

"Just wait till Spring comes, old man, and 
[174] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

then we'll put you out on the lawn", was the 
cheerful response. 

And so it went, day in and day out regard- 
less of atmosphere or surroundings, a really 
admirable untarrying source of good humour. 
But it was in ward number three, our desperate 
cases, that Barbarin was at his zenith. He be- 
gan by carefully scrutinising, first the name 
cards tied to the foot of the beds, and then the 
persons to whom the designations belonged. 
Evidently deciding that the two did not go har- 
moniously together, he rebaptized every pa- 
tient according to his own peculiar fantasy, and 
presently, in spite of ourselves, we were using 
his terms in preference to our own. 

Monsieur Cru became "the bric-a-brac from 
Dunkerque", Lecucq was tenderly dubbed 
"Dudule", Bonson "The Basque", and Mack- 
erey "The suspect". 

The human interrogation point, who had left 
his sense of humour behind him, in his china- 
store when he joined the ranks, probably only 
half relished Barbarin's somewhat disrespectful 
levity, but as we tolerated it, he was too polite 
to complain. 

As long as I live I shall see Barbarin stand- 
[175] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

ing holding a basin of cold water into which 
Monsieur Cru was plunging his burning, ema- 
ciated hands and arms. 

" Think of all the heat that's wasted with 
these fevers and coal is so dear too", rambled on 
the Extra as he absently surveyed his patient. 
Then suddenly looking down he continued, 
"Oh, la, la, you couldn't have been any too 
handsome as a civilian, our uniform probably 
didn't add much to your beauty, but as a pa- 
tient you're a fright. For the Lord's sake 
hurry up and get well." 

When he found out Lecucq's isolation in the 
world, he was immediately drawn towards him, 
and his voice would change to a caressing fal- 
setto as he would bend over the half conscious 
body that the relentless fever was slowly con- 
suming. 

"Poor kid", he would murmur. "Hardly 
out of his swaddling clothes, let alone knowing 
how to take care of himself", and then as our 
treatment demanded that none of these men be 
left lying long in the same position, Barbarin 
would gently put his hands beneath the boy's 
body and lift him high into the air, while he 
smoothed his sheets. 

[176] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"That's it, come to Mother. Now then be a 
good boy, nobody's going to hurt you", and 
similar phrases were literally cooed into Du- 
dule's ears. 

Mackerey's heart was one of his numerous 
weak points, and was only kept in motion by 
means of stimulants such as caffeine, alter- 
nated with hypodermics of camphorated oil, 
and each time one of us would approach with 
the needle, Barbarin's presentiment told him 
that the man was slowly sinking, and instinc- 
tively he used every physical and moral effort 
to snatch him from the brink of eternity. 

"Whoa there!" he would say, as he dabbed 
a spot with iodine in preparation for the prick. 
"Whoa there, isn't our company good enough 
for you that you're so anxious to leave us? 
Hold on a minute, we need you to cheer when 
the boys come home victorious. This is no time 
to let go the banisters." 

But his efforts, as well as ours, were useless. 
Mackerey grew slowly weaker and weaker, re- 
sistance was less and less evident. On the 
doctor's advice a telegram was transmitted 
through headquarters to his family who lived 
near Arras, urging some one to come. From 
[177] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

the religious medals and his rosary we knew 
that our patient was a Roman Catholic, so the 
priest was sent for, who gave the dying man 
absolution and offered up a prayer. 

In spite of all, I could not believe that we 
would not save him, and the doctor, Barbarin 
and I never left his bedside for a moment. It 
was evident M acker ey was unconscious for the 
lines in his face softened; I even imagined a 
faint smile was on his lips. In the stillness of 
the midnight hour his breathing grew easier, 
and I turned to the fire for an instant's repose. 
Barbarin took my place, and a second later 
when I faced about I could see the little come- 
dian who seating himself on the dying man's 
bed, half raised him to an upright posture, and 
putting his hands on his shoulders gently shook 
him while he said in short impassioned tones 
— "You shan't go, old man, you shan't, do you 
hear ! We need you, France needs you !" 

At three o'clock I was relieved. I went re- 
luctantly, but nothing, not even the menace of 
court martial would persuade Barbarin to 
leave his post. 

"Ce riest pas chic — ce n'est pas chic" , he 
remonstrated, and so he remained. 
[178] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

I could not rest. At six o'clock I dressed 
and went below. It was still almost dark but 
when I entered the ward I could see that the 
sheet on Mackerey's bed had been drawn close 
up to the head board. Neither doctor nor 
nurse was present. Over by the fire, his elbow 
on his knee, his head resting in the palm of his 
hand, sat Barbarin, gazing steadily into the 
dying embers. He turned about as I entered. 

"He left us just after you went", was all he 
said. 



[179] 



VII 

For many reasons it was deemed advisable 
to hold the funeral next morning. It would 
then be December twenty-fourth, and it hardly 
seemed right that Christmas for all those who 
remained, no matter how mild the celebration, 
be overcast by the shadow of Death. 

Late in the afternoon a little old white- 
haired peasant, wearing a long-out-of-date 
frock coat was admitted to my office. He was 
Mackerey's father. It was a difficult thing 
to tell him he had come too late, and though no 
sound escaped when I broke the sad news, the 
glance that darted from his clear blue eyes, 
made me feel like an executioner. 

We escorted him to the round tower where 
the mortal remains had been transferred, and 
both Madame Guix and I were moved to tears 
by the old man's silent grief. Drawing down 
the sheet he kissed the dead lad on the forehead 
and murmured. 

"He was all I had." 

These were the only words that ever escaped 
him. 

[180] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

To our offers of finding room for him until 
the morrow, he only shook his head. Even the 
invitation to be present when the coffin should 
be closed, was refused. He seemed to have a 
subtle horror of the place, as of everything 
that had witnessed the passing of his son, and 
disappeared down the village road without in- 
forming us whether or not he would ever re- 
turn. 

Contrary to its usual custom, the sun rose 
clear and bright in the morning sky. It seemed 
almost to mock our sorrow, to urge us to look 
forward to the glories of another day, not back- 
ward upon sufferings now past. It made the 
hoar frost glisten like diamonds in the rare 
leaves still clinging to the trees, and the ma- 
jestic pines stood out black against the brilliant 
blue, forming a velvety background for the 
facade of the chateau nestling almost at their 
feet. 

The ceremony was set for eight o'clock, but 
by half past seven the court yard was full of vil- 
lagers who in their Sunday clothes had come to 
pay their humble tribute to this unknown son 
of France, anxious to show in any way they 
could their appreciation of his great sacrifice. 
[181] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Flowers, we had none, nor was there any way 
of procuring them. Not a green house existed 
in the army zone, so Madame Guix and Made- 
moiselle Alice, twined a large wreath of ivy 
which they gathered from the wall. Later on 
some little girls brought in three or four half 
blown geraniums, the only fresh flowers in the 
village, gathered from the window-box at the 
schoolhouse. 

Monsieur Duguey, schoolmaster and vil- 
lage clerk, loaned the flag from the town-hall 
to cover the coffin, and we were all astonished at 
his uncontrollable emotion as he placed it on 
the bier. Great tears streamed down his 
cheeks, it seemed as though he were fore- 
warned that his only son who had just gone to 
the front, would one day be buried with like 
ceremony. 

On the flag was placed the soldier's topcoat 
and kepi, together with our wreath, and the 
tiny bunch of flowers. For the occasion, our 
four orderlies who still belonged to the active 
service, abandoned their aprons and after bur- 
nishing up their guns and trappings, consti- 
tuted themselves guard of honour. 

At ten minutes of eight we could hear the 
[182] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 

even tramp of soldiers' feet on the highroad, 
and George came in to announce that one hun- 
dred convalescent, or slightly wounded sol- 
diers from the convent-hospital at Charly, had 
asked and obtained permission to march four 
miles to our gate, in order to conduct their 
brother in arms to his last resting-place. 

Sharply at eight the little bell in our Church 
began tolling the dirge, and as our officers ap- 
peared on the steps a wounded corporal 
stepped from among the visiting troops and 
conferred a minute with the guard of honour 
who stood on either side of the steps leading 
into the round tower. As the door opened and 
the flag draped coffin appeared, the corporal's 
voice rang out clear in the morning air. 

"Present arms!" 

The boys' rifles clicked into position. 

Slowly the coffin was borne down the step 
and carried towards the gate, followed by the 
dead man's father who had mysteriously re- 
turned. Behind him our officers walked erect 
the sun catching in their gold braided uniforms, 
while directly succeeding them the three 
nurses, Madame Guix, Mademoiselle Alice and 
myself, took our places. Our long dark capes 
[183] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

and flowing white head-dress gave a mediaeval 
touch to the picture, making it almost theat- 
rical in its effect, and as I looked back I could 
see the villagers two by two had fallen into line 
behind the soldiers, while from the windows 
leaned the orderlies left in charge of the hos- 
pital. 

The little church was filled to overflowing, 
and at the graveside the troops once again 
rendered homage to the glorious defunct. "Re- 
quiescat in pace", murmured the priest, as the 
first shovelful of earth was cast in. At the 
same moment the little black coated figure 
swayed pitifully. Madame Guix and I 
bounded forward, each one catching him by 
an arm ; but he had mastered himself. 

Now that all ceremony was over the soldiers 
were ordered not to stay any longer on the 
damp ground. And presently the only ones 
remaining to see the grave covered over were 
the boy's father, Madame Guix and myself, to 
whom he clung pathetically. 

"We'll go back to the house at once," said I 
when finally we moved away. "I'll give you 
something to brace you up before you start 
on your journey." 

[ 184 ] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 



The old man shook his head. 
"Why wont you come?" 
He refused to give an explanation but re- 
mained firm in his decision of leaving at once. 
Seeing this, Madame Guix pulled from beneath 
her cape the little personal trinkets which had 
been found in Mackerey's pockets; his military 
book, a photograph or two, together with his 
rosary, and a lock of his hair which she had cut 
off and added to the neatly done up parcel. 
"Will you carry these to his mother?" 
The little old man nodded assent, took the 
package and without another word turned and 
started up the road. We stood and watched 
him out of sight. 

At the chateau life continued much the same 
as before and apparently I was the only one 
sensible of any difference in the situation. Our 
failure to save Mackerey's life, the reproachful 
look in his father's eyes made me feel as though 
I had been personally responsible for his case, 
and now that the tension was over, I could not 
find courage to go on from where we had left 
off. 

In the afternoon I ached to get away from 
it all, and by careful changes in our diagram, 
[185] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

managed to obtain two hours leave. Taking 
the dogs, every one of them, I started down the 
long alley, my thoughts travelling even faster 
than my feet, and though at the outset I had 
no determined destination, I unconsciously 
found myself visiting the favourite spots where 
H. and I had spent so many happy hours to- 
gether. Now I was seated on a marble bench 
gazing up at the skeletons of lime trees that 
touched each other cathedral like above my 
head ; now I found myself wandering down by 
our tiny river, scanning the every contour of 
a giant oak he had so often planned painting, 
and presently I was climbing to the very sum- 
mit of our grounds, the dogs capering and 
yelping before me. Why I abandoned the 
regular path, I cannot tell. I seemed to be 
running a race with the jfale yellow sun that 
was fast sinking behind the hills. Struggling, 
panting, gloriously victorious physically, but 
mentally tortured by fearful misgivings, I 
reached the top of the hill just as the sun shot 
its last resplendent rays from the West, bath- 
ing me in a pale gold sheen, and transforming 
every ripple on the far distant Marne into a 
tongue of light. It was like a fleeting glimpse 
[186] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

of Eternity and I stood motionless for many 
minutes as the fast rolling dark blue clouds 
swiftly swept the vision from my view. A 
long rumble in the distance, a vivid reminder 
of stern realities brought me to myself. I 
winked hard, and then looked about me, liter- 
ally unconscious of where I was. In a second 
the spell was broken, and drawing my cape 
closer I hurried towards a beaten path, anxious 
not to be overtaken by the darkness. Suddenly 
I stopped. What was that just before me? A 
mound ? No such thing had hitherto been there. 
Leaning forward, my eyes piercing the twilight 
I gradually discerned a humble wooden cross. 

A grave, a soldier's grave right here on my 
own property, and I had not known it. In- 
stinctively I felt it was not a German. Who 
were the gallant defenders of my home ? In an 
instant I could touch the cap that swung from 
the apex of the cross. Beaten by every element 
for more than four months now, it no longer 
had a shape, all that I could tell was that it was 
British. I strained my eyes to read the inscrip- 
tion that had been written in pencil. It was 
blurred beyond deciphering. 

To-morrow, I planned, we would come again 
[187] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

and try to read it, and bring with us a humble 
token of our gratitude, a wreath of ivy. 

Night had enveloped me in darkness before I 
reached home, and coming towards the refec- 
tory wing, great peals of laughter greeted me 
from that direction. Lamplight gleamed 
through the uncurtained windows, and loathe 
to break in upon the merriment I hesitated be- 
fore opening the door. From where I stood I 
caught sight of Barbarin perched on the long 
dining-room table juggling with a handful of 
oranges, much to the delight of my entire 
domestic staff, and the "Heavenly Twins" who 
were off duty. A second later, the inside door 
opened and Yvonne and Nini appeared with a 
turkish bathrobe in which they promptly en- 
veloped the juggler, while Chou and Theirage 
handed him a beard and moustache wrought 
out of a roll of absorbent cotton. 

"Pere Noel ! Pere Noel ! Santa Claus !" they 
all shrieked with delight while assisting him to 
glue on the beard with the white of an egg, and 
to hoist a grape picker's basket full of oranges 
to his shoulders. Barbarin danced from one 
end of that long refectory table to the other, 
and when finally exhausted, they helped him 
[188] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 

down and started him on his rounds distribut- 
ing the meagre presents they had been able to 
procure. 

I met him in the vestibule on his return trip, 
his robe dragging on the floor behind him, his 
basket empty, his countenance radiant with the 
joy of success. My presence must have sud- 
denly recalled the anxious hours of the night 
just past, for his face dropped as he approached 
me, and with a seriousness that was most ludi- 
crous when one considered his attitude and 
garb, he explained — 

"It seemed my duty to cheer them up a bit, 
otherwise they'd all have died of gloom." 

Save for a little impromptu merry-making in 
the kitchen Christmas came and went unat- 
tended by any happening of note. The guns 
on our immediate front rolled longer and 
louder than I had ever heard them before. At 
moments it was really alarming: what little 
china and glassware we possessed, danced on 
their shelves in the cupboards, and such of our 
window panes as remained, tinkled and fell to 
the ground, later to be replaced by sheets of 
oiled paper. 

A half dozen patients in the upstairs wards 
[189] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

suddenly developed disquieting symptoms, 
while below we had a hand to hand struggle 
with death, which seemed destined to carry off 
little "Dudule". It might be truly said that 
Madame Guix literally forced the breath of 
life into his slender delicate body, too exhausted 
to carry on the combat. Night and day she 
worked over him as though resentful of the 
other's slipping beyond her control, and we 
were well into the new year before the danger 
mark was passed, and our patients entered 
upon their convalescence. 

It was after this happy stage had been 
reached that I cast aside my nurse's garb and 
assumed the housewife's apron. Until now the 
domestic side of hospital life had demanded but 
trifling attention. It had been easy for our 
cooks to procure sufficient food for the house- 
hold and the staff ; our patients had taken little 
or nothing solid, but forewarned of their on- 
coming voracity, I realised it was high time to 
prepare. 

The rapidity with which we had become a 

typhoid hospital had hardly permitted us to 

ascertain for just which post the four men I 

had been allowed to retain, were best fitted. 

[190] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Luckily they were intelligent and readily 
adapted themselves to their surroundings. 
The "Heavenly Twins" developed into excel- 
lent general house workers, "Chou" even going 
so far as to darn the officers' socks. Dubuis, 
though it had been some time since he had stood 
over a stove, had once been chief steward in an 
Officers' Club at Noyon, so naturally his tend- 
encies were towards the culinary department, 
where he was seconded by Grantot, an engraver 
of silver, and Maria Colin a one time Parisian 
charwoman, who hearing of my plight had 
secured a passport and come straight out "to do 
her bit", refusing any remuneration for her 
services. 

Decidedly Dubuis had a genius for organ- 
ising, for when finally I took over the reins I 
found there was nothing left for me to do but 
follow out his well laid plans. In fact he had 
far surpassed anything I had ever hoped to 
attain, his past experience, not only as a stew- 
ard, but as proprietor of a dairy products shop 
in the immediate suburbs of Paris, fitting him 
wonderfully well not only to deal with the local 
tradespeople, but even with the wariest of peas- 
ants. 

[191] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 

Unwilling to worry me at a time when he 
knew I most needed encouragement, but ang- 
ered by the dealings of one of the provincial 
butchers, he resolved it would be wiser for us 
to raise our own cattle. There was plenty of 
room in the stables, besides hay in the lofts and 
mangles in the cellar, so writing to his wife to 
send him sufficient funds, he gladly risked them 
against my displeasure, and his own compe- 
tence as a buyer. 

Making arrangements to be gone overnight, 
he took old Cesar and descended into the Brie 
country, returning the next day with a surpris- 
ing number of bullocks and sheep, two milch 
cows and a half dozen pigs. 

His great forte lay in the buying, selling and 
exchanging of our cattle and their products, 
besides making the hospital independent of any 
dealer. 

Milk, butter and cheese soon became home 
produce, and what we could not consume was 
either marketed once a week for cash at Cha- 
teau Thierry, or exchanged for fresh vegetables 
or eggs. 

Oranges and salt fish were bought at whole- 
sale in Paris by his wife, shipped direct by rail 
[192] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

to Headquarters where they were met by our 
cart, unloaded, reloaded and dragged eleven 
miles to Villiers. It was a great deal of work 
but so well systematised that we barely felt the 
strain, and were deeply grateful for his varied 
bill of fare. 

Everything was done with a smile. Those 
who worked with him adored and feared him; 
those with whom he dealt were the same. It 
was thanks to Dubuis, that I was one day 
offered the pleasing spectacle of our chief 
steward, our far famed, vice hardened poacher, 
and our gendarme (his sworn enemy) coming 
down the road arm in arm, discussing recent 
events as though twenty years of enmity and 
hatred had never existed. 

New Year's week witnessed a great improve- 
ment in all of the wards. Several of the lighter 
cases entered into the convalescent period, 
while upstairs our anxiety was greatly relieved 
by a decided turn for the better. As to our 
severe cases, while the actual crisis was passed, 
our patients were so feeble that complications 
were still to be feared, and as time went on and 
their conditions ameliorated, it was intensely 
interesting to see them open their eyes and look 
[193] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

about them as though in a totally strange place, 
while in reality they had been in the same wards 
for weeks. 

Monsieur Cru was the first to put order into 
his mental state, and one morning asked us the 
day of the week and month we were in. His 
astonishment when we told him it was January, 
1915, was such that I feared for a moment lest 
he question his own sanity. 

"But my wife, what on earth will she say to 
me? I promised to write her every week. 
Maybe she thinks I'm dead." 

"No, she doesn't old man", cheerfully re- 
sponded Barbarin, "We saw to that." 

The next moment he began feeling all over 
his body as though he had lost something, and 
then nearly burst into tears. 

"They've stolen her picture and my watch", 
he moaned, "How dreadful, she'll never forgive 
me." 

"Hold on, not so swift my lad," retorted 
Barbarin. "You seem to forget that for nearly 
a week every time we put them under your 
pillow, you pulled them out and threw them on 
the floor. If you'll wait just a second I'll come 
over to your night table and get them for 
[194] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

you." Monsieur Cm was much abashed and 
relieved. 

"I? I did that", he murmured, "How dis- 
respectful." 

"A darn nuisance I thought at the time", 
rejoined Barbarin producing the much cher- 
ished articles. 

The "Bric-a-brac from Dunkerque" care- 
fully scrutinized all the "Bibelots" and mur- 
mured, "Yes, they're all here, both her picture 
and the girls." 

"Where'd you suppose they'd be? Did you 
think I took 'em? What on earth would I 
want with your wife's picture, I've got one of 
my own." 

"I didn't mean that, I didn't mean that", 
promptly protested the little man, "No offence 
intended, really." And then by way of making 
peace he held up the photograph of a woman 
and invited Barbarin's attention. 

"Don't you think she's handsome?" 

What on earth could the poor man do but 
reply in the affirmative? 

"And here are the girls," continued the thin 
wavering voice. "Such lovely children." 

Barbarin looked once, then again, and finally 
[195] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

took the picture in his hand for closer inspec- 
tion. 

"How old are they?", he queried at length. 

"Eighteen and twenty-two." 

"How old are you?" 

"Thirty-four." 

Barbarin shrugged his shoulders in dis- 
may. Until that moment he had rejoiced in 
Monsieur Cru's return to health, but now con- 
vinced of his mental inefficiency, he didn't even 
try to argue. 

"Don't you think you'd better lie down? 
You've talked enough for to-day. No use 
overdoing." 

"I know you think I'm crazy, but I'm not", 
he gasped as Barbarin gently pressed him back 
on his pillows, "If you'd given me time I would 
have told you. I married a young widow three 
years ago." Monsieur Cru laid special stress 
on the word young. 

Barbarin could no longer contain himself, his 
hands on his sides, he laughed until he cried, 
much to his patient's dismay. 

With the gradual return of his appetite 
Monsieur Cru became more and more exact- 
ing in his demands. It was evident the young 
[196] 

















tl .W-, >-. jg«tw^ 



; 4«liy--^ 



- < 






"YOU UNDERSTAND, MADAME, YOU ARE 
IN THE TRENCHES, YOU ARE HUNGRY, 
THE DINNER IS LATE IN COMING" 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

widow had realised his fondness for food, and 
had very cleverly taken advantage of it. The 
necessary simplicity of our diet was a constant 
source of distress and dissertation. He would 
sit for hours talking about "Tasty dishes", 
sometimes smacking his lips in apprehension, 
but always philosophically concluding — 

"What's the use of talking about it all? 
This war has completely ruined my digestion. 
I'll never be the same again." 

"It's a pity about you", murmured our 
"Extra". 

Evidently our patient was seeking to work 
out the exact, direct cause of his illness, which 
he finally traced back to his irregular meals. 

"You understand, Madame, you are in the 
trenches, you are hungry, the dinner is late in 
coming. You just get nicely started when 
Eing! another attack. By the time you get 
back, your food is cold. The only day we 
were lucky enough to have chicken, a four inch 
shell burst right over us. Killed two and 
wounded two more. You can say what you 
like, but a thing like that takes your appetite 
away. I couldn't eat a mouthful until night. 
Ah, war is wonderful, but it does change our 
[197] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

habits so. At home my wife used to bring me 
my chocolate in my bed — " 

A repressed, but audible, giggle arose from 
the corner where our orderly was busy with 
another patient. 

Monsieur Cru continued, ignoring the insult, 

"On the front at the time you usually expect 
chocolate, you get tinned pork and beans, or 
sardines." 

"What's the use of expecting? You should 
worry. The first three years of the war we'll 
have to get on with indigestion, after that when 
we're thoroughly organised, both sides'll agree 
to knock off an hour at noon for luncheon. I 
promise you if I'm there then I'll see that it 
is done", was Barbarin's irrelevant reply, which 
silenced the "Bric-a-brac" who went on nod- 
ding his head and thinking in silence. 

Dudule's first sign of real consciousness was 
evinced the morning he threw his much cher- 
ished novel from the coverlet where Barbarin 
had carefully placed it. 

"What's this you're trying to put into my 
bed? No wonder I'm sore." He laughed 
faintly when we told him how much store he 
had set by the now abandoned book. 
[198] 






MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Well, I'll read it just so soon as my eyes 
get strong enough. There must be some- 
thing worth while in it since I hung on to it 
so tight." 

The youngest of all our patients, he who 
had been the least resistant. The malady had 
ravaged his physique, he was merely skin and 
bones, his great brown eyes standing out in his 
countenance like those of a young swallow 
still in the nest. But he was prompt to react, 
and thanks to daily hypodermics of a wonder- 
ful new serum sent down from Headquarters, 
he was soon able to be about. 

"Ah, la, la," sighed Barbarin, who now had 
a moment's leisure to stretch himself in front 
of the fire, "I used up a new pair of slippers 
just running for you." 

The timid boy blushed scarlet and murmured 
an apology. He was grateful, infinitely grate- 
ful for everything we had done for him, and 
never missed an occasion to say so. 

"And Marguerite, what the devil is her ad- 
dress?, I couldn't find it anywhere. For the 
Lord's sake hurry up and write her you're still 
in the land of the living." 

"Who told you her name is Marguerite?", 
[199] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

snapped Dudule, thereby betraying what he 
most wished to hide. 

"Who told me? You did." 

"When?" 

"Why you've been screaming about her for 
over a month now. There's only one thing 
left for you to do. Just as soon as your pins 
get steady, go and marry her. Better not let 
her come to see you right away either, or she'll 
never consent. You're still more dead than 
alive. Why, two weeks ago to-day they took 
your measure for a coffin." 

This was pushing the pleasantry a little far 
but Dudule was equal to the situation. Turn- 
ing to me, he demanded — 

"I'm too young to be a corpse, am I not, Ma- 
dame?" 

I nodded my assent. I could not believe it 
possible that the war would not be over by the 
time he had been entirely restored to health. 
But who can prophesy? 

A year later a black bordered letter signed 
Marguerite Lecucq, told me that Dudule had 
passed on the Field of Honor during the battle 
of the Somme, leaving his nineteen year old 
widow with an infant son to support. 
[200] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Once again the food question loomed in the 
distance. For the moment, however, we were 
obliged to keep very strict watch to prevent 
the convalescents from infringing on our diet 
laws. It was most difficult for an appetite 
is a hard thing to curb, and I feared lest 
pressure be brought to bear upon one or 
another of our orderlies, who ignorant of the 
gravity of the situation, might procure some 
long craved edible, thereby causing a catas- 
trophe. 

Naturally unsuspicious, I was, nevertheless, 
surprised to see a soldier whisk something be- 
neath his counterpane, when I unexpectedly 
opened the door into a ward. 

"What is it?" I queried, shaking a warning 
finger. "Sweetmeats?" It was just possible 
that a parcel had arrived and been distributed 
uncensored. 

"No, Madame, really". 

"Then what?" 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing?" I put my hand onto something 

lumpy that moved a trifle. In an instant I had 

whipped off the coverlet much to the sick man's 

dismay, and my surprised gaze was met by a 

[201] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 



pair of round brown button eyes that belonged 
to Betsy — my Boston bull. 

"Oh, please don't take her away", pleaded 
the soldier. "Gamant had her yesterday. It's 
my turn to-day. She's been such a comfort to 
us all. She seems to understand everything we 
tell her. This room has planned decorating 
her for devotion, just as soon as we can get 
about", and that is how Betsy became a hero- 
ine, the proud possessor of a tin-foil medal! 

In certain wards the men gradually began 
helping themselves, leaving us a few hours 
breathing space each day. I was all for send- 
ing Madame Guix on a vacation, she was ter- 
ribly run-down and suffered agonies from an 
abscess beneath her arm, though, of course, she 
never mentioned it. 

Her reply to any such argument was that 
my condition was not much better than her's, 
that it was my turn first, and so forth, to all of 
which I naturally turned a deaf ear. 

So accustomed had we become to our work 
that we missed the strain under which we had 
laboured, and our relaxation was most fatigu- 
ing. We had not long to wait though, for quite 
unexpectedly we received a visit from the mede- 
[202] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

cin chef, who descended upon the hospital with- 
out a moment's warning. 

This caused quite a flurry among the mili- 
tary "Infirmiers", Godec among others, for 
whom the word efficiency must have been 
synonymous with smell, for he dashed up- 
stairs and snatching our precious bottle of dis- 
infectant from the shelf — distributed its con- 
tents so generously on the floors of the wards 
that all my patients were coughing when the 
doctor arrived. 

We were approved of. We had done so 
well that on leaving, the Grand Chef informed 
me that I was to choose forty men who could 
travel, and he would make arrangements to 
have them finish their convalescence in the 
interior of France. 

"You must make room for others who need 
your care more than these do now." 

Two days later the list on my table bore two 
score new names and the hospital registered 
complet. 



[203] 



VIII 

As I look back through the few hastily jotted 
notes that compose my diary, I realize how ex- 
ceptionally fortunate was our hospital in rind- 
ing the proper people to fill the various posts 
— almost without effort on our part! This, 
naturally, relieved my mind of a tremendous 
burden, and permitted me to enter whole 
heartedly into whatever duties I undertook. 

There were two questions, however, which 
soon became problems, and we seemed help- 
lessly handicapped in finding a solution. They 
were apparently beyond the domain of our pos- 
sibilities. 

First of all, the shortage of coal. By dint of 
unparalleled economy, the burning of one third 
dry and one third green wood, together with a 
few lumps of the precious mineral, Dubuis had 
managed to make my stock last till the first 
week in January. From the very beginning we 
had not once thought of using it for heating 
purposes, our supply wouldn't have lasted a 
week under such circumstances. 
[204] 



I THE . 

By ap] I I 

to the Colonel in charge of I 
and finally to the Prefet of the Departme 
we actually managed to get half a toi b at 

the price r t labour was d 

farm cart from Chateau Thie. 
horse ma king three round trips 
miles each. 

A second demand was immediately refu 
coal vras not to be had even with a permis. De- 
cidedly the matter took on an alarming aspect. 

Wood, of course, we had in any quantity, 
hut green wood. We made a careful i 
tion of what dry stock remained in the 
and Duhuis decided that by merely lighting the 
fires in the wards with such material, and cov- 
ering them witli green log-, we could get a con- 
siderable degree of heat. ] ould le 
enough for the kitchen range until rail r 
facilities permitted easier transportation, which 
we calculated would be about a month or 
weeks at the longest. 

In the meantime parties composed of not 
only our orderlies, but a good many of the 
townspeople who willingly lent a hand, scou 
the woods in our entire district in quest of dead 
[ 20.5 ] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

limbs and branches that would make excellent 
fuel, but the French peasant is so thrifty that 
not much was brought in to swell the pile that 
was carefully locked in the shed, Dubuis in 
person distributing the necessary pittance each 
night and morning. It was not long, however, 
before we discovered that despite our careful 
reckoning, our supply was literally melting 
away, so officers and staff willingly made the 
sacrifice of fires in their apartments, replacing 
the lack of heat by a few more warm clothes. 
Eut we had counted, alas ! without the humid- 
ity, never unusual in the Eastern part of 
France during the Winter season. Almost 
immediately it penetrated the apartments, an. 
I can even now recall a certain day in February 
when the thermometer registering a little be- 
low 32° Fh. outside, we were obliged to open 
the dining-room windows to keep warm dur- 
ing luncheon. The gravy on my meat turned 
solid before I could get it to my mouth. 

The second all absorbing question was, to- 
bacco. Much has been said of its necessity to 
the fighting men in the trenches, but I fancy 
few realise the moral effect of a cigarette on 
a convalescent in a typhoid hospital. The day 
[ 206 ] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

a man can sit up in bed, clap his soldier's cap on 
one ear, and puff waves of smoke into his neigh- 
bours' faces, there is no longer any doubt as to 
his recovery. He is cured. 

The little stock that a village tobacconist had 
been able to lay in, was quickly exhausted, with 
no means of replenishment in view. At Charly 
all was in reserve for the three or four hundred 
wounded men at the local hospital. I had 
written to friends in Paris, who all had their 
own special charities to look after, and during 
the past weeks railway and parcel post service 
had been extremely intermittent and unsatis- 
factory. I received two packages of two hun- 
dred cigarettes each ; a mere drop in the bucket, 
disposed of in half an hour's time. 

Headquarters alone remained: I made my 
appeal and received one kilogram, a little over 
two pounds. I had a right to so many grammes 
per head every ten days, as had every other 
sanitary formation, but Headquarters could 
not give what it did not possess. It could 
promise — that was all, "Patience et longueur de 
temps ..." 

It was more than annoying, it was sickening, 
to see the disappointment that greeted each of 
[207] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

my futile attempts to procure the much de- 
manded perlot. I decided to carry my appeal 
to a higher court. I went to the Commandant 
de la Place, in whose absence I was referred to 
Monsieur le Prefet. To him I explained my 
numerous futile endeavours. 

"Madame Macherez ought to have some", he 
said after quite a long silence during which he 
had been thinking. In passing let me explain 
that the lady mentioned, is the President of the 
Red Cross Chapter in our department, the 
Aisne. 

"Yes, she certainly ought to have some. On 
account of daily bombardment it has been de- 
cided to evacuate two hospitals at Soissons, but 
the tobacco is probably still there. Why don't 
you ask her for it?" 

"Monsieur le Prefet", I replied, "I should 
be delighted, but Soissons is the front; I have 
no possible way of communicating with the city 
as you know." 

"Yes, quite right, I had forgotten." 

"How soon do you need your tobacco? I 
am going to Soissons next week, I might see 
what I could do." 

"A week is a long time when a hundred men 
[208] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

are aching for a smoke. To-morrow would not 
be too soon to suit them." 

"The great difficulty is to get a military 
motor to accept such an errand. They're so 
busy. They might transmit the order, but be 
sent somewhere else instead of returning by 
this direction." 

"If you could find a place for me in one of 
them I'd go myself and take a chance on get- 
ting back quickly." 

"Would you?" 

"Certainly", I replied as demurely as pos- 
sible though I must admit that suddenly my 
heart began thumping so loudly in my bosom 
that at times I feared it could be heard. It 
was difficult not to seem too anxious and by 
an apparent desire for adventure thwart a plan 
that had suddenly germinated in my brain and 
made such rapid strides within half a minute 
that I now found it absolutely imperative I go 
to Soissons. It was a purely selfish idea, I am 
ashamed to admit. But once in the early stages 
of the war I had met my husband in that city 
quite unexpectedly, and after having said 
good-bye to him forever. Recently he had been 
promoted and his last letters led me to believe 
[209] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

he was again in that vicinity, so though my 
chances of encountering him were slight, I 
was willing to risk anything to procure the 
possibility. 

It seemed to me the Prefet was an extremely 
long time coming to a decision. Yet I dared 
not say a word. Presently he shrugged his 
shoulders. 

' 'It isn't done ordinarily, you know." 

I'm sure my face fell and he saw it. 

"However, this is not an ordinary situation, 
be here at seven o'clock to-morrow morning and 
I'll do what I can to find a place for you in 
whatever goes through from here to Soissons." 

I thanked him profusely and started down to 
the quay where my horse was to meet me; it 
seemed to me I was walking on air, and I am 
confident joy radiated from every pore of my 
countenance. 

On my way I met the "Medecin Chef", to 
whom I confided my triumph, and much to 
my dismay he didn't at all approve of my being 
allowed to go to the front, and he didn't hesitate 
to say so. I argued, but while he admitted the 
tobacco question was a grave one, he also re- 
minded me that I had quite a responsibility on 
[210] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

my hands in the hundred and twenty men who 
looked to me to keep the hospital open, etc. 
I was sorry I had spoken. This was a lesson; 
another time I would be more discreet. 

On my way home to Villiers, Chou drew my 
attention to the fact that the big guns were 
more active than in quite a while, and by the 
time we had reached the chateau, the din they 
made was terrific. You could hear not only our 
guns, but those of the enemy. 

"We must have made some very important 
gains somewhere on the front", asserted the 
doctor, "or else there's an attack in prepara- 
tion. I've never heard them shell Soissons 
quite so methodically." 

No permission for me to-morrow, thought I. 
If such be the case I'll never get beyond Cha- 
teau Thierry. 

The noise raged all night. Now accustomed 
to the cannonading it did not prevent my sleep- 
ing, but once or twice I awoke, sat up in bed 
and weighed my chances of the morrow's suc- 
cess. 

It was still dark when I arose and put on 
what warm clothes I possessed, and again tak- 
ing place beside Chou on the front of our cart 
[211] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

retraced the road Eastward. As dawn broke 
it seemed to me the cannonade diminished in 
intensity, which, of course, argued well for my 
trip. 

I was deposited at the city hall where I had 
my passport vised, and once this formality ac- 
complished, I was ready to start. On leaving 
home Maria had provided me with a lunch 
box which I accepted rather ungratefully. 
Soissons is only an hour and a half's run from 
the chateau in a good motor, and arriving at 
Headquarters by seven, I hoped with luck to be 
back home for luncheon, failing which there 
could be no doubt about dinner! 

The morning came and went and still I sat 
and waited. Every motor that had passed 
through the city was for military purposes 
only ; not even the possibility of standing in the 
back of one of these covered trucks. 

At one o'clock I thanked Heaven for my 
lunch box, and though ravenously hungry, 
prudently ate but half its contents; it was 
just possible I might need the remainder 
later on. 

Two, three then four o'clock dragged by and 
still I was a fixture. Several private motors 
[212] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

had passed but with superior officers occupying 
the back seats, so, of course, that didn't further 
my departure in the least. In the meantime the 
bombardment had begun with renewed vigour, 
and with each detonation my hopes of making 
the boys happy, grew dimmer and more re- 
mote. 

I was standing looking out the window of 
the town hall, idly thrumming on the panes 
with my fingers and watching the mist from 
the Marne slowly envelop the sharp outlines 
of the houses, making things more mysterious 
every moment. 

"Vite, vite" , called a town clerk from the 
doorway. "Vite, vite, now's your chance, a 
limousine going up to Soissons to fetch some 
officers. Quick and they'll take you." 

As I opened the outside door the powerful 
headlights of a motor, whose engine I could 
hear throbbing, shot into my eyes and blinded 
me. The clerk went forward and began par- 
leying with the drivers, who seemed little 
pleased at the prospect of having a woman for 
a passenger. 

"You're not getting us in wrong", I could 
hear one of them say. 

[213] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"No", the clerk reassured them. "No, her 
papers and permit are en regie". 

"All right". 

"Thank you". 

In the meantime I had clambered into the 
back seat of a most luxurious car, the door 
slammed and we were off for the front ! Every 
turn of the wheel was bringing us nearer and 
nearer to the theatre of war. It awed me a bit. 

I soon composed myself, however, and set 
about noticing every detail as we went along. 
I was fully alive to the fact that trips to the 
front are not likely to befall the same woman 
twice, and I was anxious to make mental note 
of anything out of the ordinary that might 
come under my observation. 

On leaving Chateau Thierry it was still 
light enough for me to see that the fields on 
either side of the road were much the same as 
in normal times. In fact I was a bit disap- 
pointed that the damage to farm houses had 
been repaired so soon. The only thing that 
seemed different since I had last travelled in 
this direction was the loneliness of the roads — 
in peace times always alive with traffic and 
pleasure cars. 

[214] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

I leaned forward and asked one of the 
drivers why we didn't meet more army supply 
carts, and he replied that the direct line from 
Paris to the front was through Villers Cotter- 
ets, and that though a national thoroughfare 
this one was reserved for emergencies, or com- 
munication with the hospital centre at Chateau 
Thierry. 

As we approached Ouchy-le-chateau, which 
is about half way between Villiers and Soissons, 
it was still light enough for me to see that the 
noise made by our car had drawn a sentry from 
his box. He was standing in the middle of the 
road, barring our path, his hands holding his 
gun extended high above his head. This was a 
signal for us to stop. 

We slowed down, and jumping from the 
front seat one of the drivers (they always go by 
twos in case of accident) went up to the sentry 
and whispered the password into his ear. Im- 
mediately he lowered his weapon and accom- 
panied our man to a little impromptu hut from 
whose lone window streamed a ray of lamp 
light. Presently both returned preceded by an 
under officer who asked for my papers. I pro- 
duced them, handed them out the window, and 
[215] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

then watched him slowly return towards the 
hut. At the end of five or ten minutes our man 
came out and asked me if I would have the 
kindness to step inside for a moment. Won- 
dering what complication could have devel- 
oped, I gladly complied with the demand, and 
as I entered the door the rays of the lamp from 
which the shade had been removed, made me 
wince a trifle. 

"That will do, thank you", said a voice as I 
blinked and opened my eyes, "I only wanted to 
be quite sure you corresponded with the 
photograph on the passport. Sorry to have in- 
convenienced you." 

"Not at all, sir," I replied as I retraced my 
steps toward the car. 

On leaving Ouchy although it was almost 
pitch dark, we were forbidden to use our head- 
lights — in fact any lights whatsoever. There 
was no need to demand an explanation, the 
roaring, crashing sounds made by the heavy 
guns on our immediate left told us we were in 
their neighbourhood, though as yet quite a dis- 
tance from the first lines. 

Our speed was reduced considerably, and to 
add to the drivers' discomfort, a driving rain 
[216] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

had set in. It was nearly seven o'clock when 
we were again halted at Hartannes. 

" You'll not get into Soissons to-night", was 
the comforting remark of the sentry as he re- 
turned my papers. 

"Why not?" 

"Can't you hear all the music that's in the 
air? I'll bet the shells are dancing in the 
streets. This is the worst bombardment yet." 

The drivers looked askance at me. 

"Go ahead until some one stops me defi- 
nitely", was all I said. The men threw in the 
clutch and we bounded forward. 

It must have been most annoying to drive 
that huge, high-power machine at a snail's pace. 
All the time it reminded me of a thoroughbred 
animal tugging to get loose from its harness, 
and ready to leap ahead at the slightest provo- 
cation. But in our case prudence demanded 
that we keep a tight rein. 

Emerging from a long avenue and turning 
sharply to the right we came upon an open 
road, and here it was that night that I caught 
my first vision of warfare. It was black night 
but looking behind me as the noise of an explo- 
sion rent the air, I could now and again catch 
[217] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

sight of a spark whizzing through the sky as a 
shell took its course towards the enemy's 
trenches, scarcely three miles ahead of us. 

The sound of the German guns was almost as 
distinct as ours and it was with something of a 
quiver that I realised my position — between 
our artillery and theirs. 

Presently a terrific racket announced the 
departure of a heavy German shell, and not 
many seconds later we heard a crashing sound 
accompanied by a huge blaze that shot heaven- 
ward. 

"They're trying to locate some particular 
spot", the driver informed me. "They're shell- 
ing with 'Bombes eclair antes. 3 Look there 
goes another." 

True enough, another and still another fol- 
lowed each other in rapid succession, illumi- 
nating the distant sky line in a most gruesome 
manner. I don't think I really appreciated the 
gravity of the moment, though the quickened 
beating of my pulse betokened my unconscious 
nervous condition. Once and once only had I 
ever seen anything that I could compare with 
it. As a child, while living in the suburbs of 
New York, I had been awakened during a hot 
[218] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Summer's night by the breaking of an electric 
storm. The quick flashes of chain lightning, 
followed by immediate close rolling thunder, 
had so terrified me that screaming with fright 
I had sought refuge in my mother's arms, 
where I had cried myself to sleep. Such had 
been the will of our Creator. Now what I wit- 
nessed was the voluntary work of man. I shud- 
dered. Still the motor went resolutely for- 
ward. 

Our pace was so slow that presently, through 
the din, I recognised the familiar tramp of feet 
on the road, and guessed our men were overtak- 
ing some soldiers. In a few moments we came 
upon a company, advancing probably to relieve 
their comrades in the trenches. They were 
laughing and joking with one another, the only 
thing visible in the darkness being the burning 
tips of half a hundred cigarettes. The column 
parted to let our motor pass ahead, and while 
in their midst another rocket-shell burst, light- 
ing up the road, and allowing them to catch a 
glimpse of my white head-dress in the back of 
the car. 

"Hi there, give us a lift", called one or two. 

"Look out for my toes", shrieked another. 
[219] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Tell us where you're going and we'll call 
and leave our cards." 

This unexpected joviality was most welcome, 
and a smile relieved the tenseness of the muscles 
in my face. It was unbelievable that such good 
humour could exist right in the very jaws of 
death. 

We crept on stealthily, bumping from side 
to side over the ruts in the road, now and again 
literally ploughing through muddy slime that 
came close up to the wheel hubs. 

Suddenly as we were passing between a row 
of houses, a voice that could be heard at a much 
longer distance, cried out — 

"Qui vive?" 

"France!" was the immediate reply from 
the front seat. My blood was racing through 
my veins. The moment was more exciting than 
any drama I had ever witnessed. 

"Stop your car, no one can pass here", said 
the voice as a tall dark figure loomed in the 
darkness. 

"But our papers are all in order", protested 
our driver, "I'll get down and show them to 

you." 

"Sorry but those are my orders." 
[220] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"We're only going to Soissons", continued 
the chauffeur. 

The sentry was merciless. 

"Pull over to the side of the road", he or- 
dered. "I'll let our officer take care of you as 
soon as he comes." 

We obeyed blindly — there was nothing else 
to do. 

"Where are we?", asked the driver. 

"Vauxbuin," came the reply. "Right on the 
station square." 

"Where's Vauxbuin?" growled number two. 

"The last village on the road before you get 
to Soissons", said I, proud of my knowledge. 
Then leaning my head against the cold window 
frame, I strained my eyes in hope of recognis- 
ing the landscape. In a very few moments 
things began to take shape. Yes, there was 
the station, the fountain in the middle of the 
square. 

"What's this motor doing here?" asked an 
abrupt, unfamiliar voice. 

The sentry explained the situation, and pro- 
ducing an electric lamp from his pocket, an 
officer of the Gendarmes, or army police, 
turned it on to us. 

[221] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

He asked us for our papers and after care- 
fully scanning them, shook his head. 

"Soissons ! Impossible ! You can't stay here 
though ; roads must be kept clear." 

No one from within murmured. 

"Do you know where the distillery is on the 
right of the road, about quarter of a mile from 
here?" 

"No Sir", replied our driver. 

"I do", said I. 

"Can you guide them?" 

"Surely!" 

"Then off you go. Mind now, no further. 
Turn into the court yard and wait orders." 

I felt relieved, at least we were going for- 
ward. In one awful moment I had feared lest 
we be turned about and sent homeward. It 
would have been such a pity, now that I was 
within sight of my goal. 

We crawled along, finally reaching the gate 
of the distillery where another sentry halted 
us and asked our mission. On explaining, we 
were allowed to come in and back up against a 
shed. 

The rain had ceased and the cannonade had 
redoubled in violence. It was quite evident 
[222] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

that I stood little or no chance of entering the 
city under present conditions, for it was being 
subjected to a perfect rain of steel. 

Across the courtyard, the main building I 
could see was occupied. Though every window 
was carefully closed and covered with dark 
shades one felt that the place was inhabited. 

We had not been in our position many mo- 
ments when a horseman swung into the yard, 
galloped up to the side of the house and throw- 
ing the reins over the neck of his horse, entered 
the door, which as it opened let out a flood of 
light. Two minutes later another man fol- 
lowed him, and he in turn was succeeded by 
another. It was a perfect stream of soldiers, 
silently coming and going. 

As we sat still and waited for something 
more to happen, a masculine figure sauntered 
leisurely across the court and up to the front 
of our machine. As he drew nearer I could see 
he was munching a crust of bread, and pres- 
ently smelled the odor of garlic. 

"What's in there?" asked our chauffeur 
pointing to the distillery. 

" Offices of some kind, I think", came the 
muffled reply. 

[223] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Don't you belong here?" 

"No, just waiting for the chance to deliver 
my munitions." 

With his jack-knife the speaker cut himself 
a piece of bread and a generous slice of sau- 
sage. As I let down my window in order not to 
lose a word, the wind wafted a spicy odour in 
my direction and made me remember my own 
hunger. 

"What's the matter with them to-night?", 
queried our man, nodding his head in the direc- 
tion of the enemy. "I never heard them so noisy 
in this sector." 

"Oh, it won't be long now", calmly replied 
the other. "They probably got news we were 
moving troops and they've been shelling the 
main road for two days steady. Boys are all 
going up by the masked lanes, laughing at 
them. Let 'em waste their munitions all they 
like!" 

"Is that the reason we've been held up?" 

"I suppose so." 

At this point my attention was directed to a 

rosy glow behind me, and turning about 

towards the other end of the long open faced 

shed, I caught a glimpse of a fire that was 

[224] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

struggling into existence. A second glance 
showed me that for safety's sake it had been 
kindled beneath the cover of the shed itself, 
and as gradually the light grew in volume, a 
strange scene was revealed to my wondering 
gaze. As though in a dream I could see long 
draped oriental figures gradually taking shape. 
Reclining on the ground, their heads covered 
by huge tan colored turbans, they had turned 
their faces towards the welcome blaze, their 
shining brown eyes catching and reflecting 
every stray luminous ray. 

Slowly and with measured gestures each one 
lifted a cigarette to his mouth, and let the 
smoke fall leisurely from his lips. Silence 
reigned. Their thoughts seemed to be going 
outward with their smoke. 

Then, and as though prearranged, a tall 
figure with flowing white robes evolved from 
the shadow in the background, his immaculate 
turban and iron-grey beard setting off his noble 
brow and flashing eyes. As he gradually ap- 
proached the group, and his whole person was 
flooded in light, I could see the Legion of 
Honor hanging, a scarlet splash, against the 
white bernous of this Moroccan Chief. 
[225] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Following my example, both chauffeurs and 
their munching companion had turned about, 
and remained speechless at the unexpected 
vision that met their eyes. Then, and as though 
incapable of finding words to express the emo- 
tion this wonderfully peaceful oriental scene 
had produced in his brain, our friend of the 
sausage moved away, but as he went nodded 
his head in the direction of the Arabs and mur- 
mured — 

"They should worry." 

Suddenly, and when we least expected it, the 
bombardment ceased; both sides halted a mo- 
ment as though for breath. The cannonade 
was now far distant on our left, a mere echo of 
what we had endured. Immediately in front of 
us the ceaseless tac-a-tac-tac-tac of a machine 
gun was the only sound of strife. 

The supply waggon guided by our friend 
rolled out of the court and headed for the front, 
and almost immediately we were informed that 
we could pursue our course. 

"Hurry up now", continued the man who 
brought us our instructions. "Hurry up and 
get in and get out again. Turn to your left at 
[226] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

the first sentry — use only the masked roads. 
Good night and good luck." 

We thanked him and followed his advice, 
turned to the left into a newly made winding 
lane that zig-zagged through private property, 
and in the daytime is hidden from the enemy's 
view by a screen of evergreen trees cleverly 
disposed for that purpose. Up hill, down dale, 
we journeyed, our chainless wheels slipping 
one yard to every two we advanced. At one 
moment we reached the summit of a small in- 
cline and a dilapidated mill came into view. 
The road led almost against the building, and 
as we advanced a soldier sprang from the dark- 
ness and came running towards our car. 

"Hold on a moment", he called, waving us 
back. "Hold on." 

At the same instant a struggling horse drag- 
ging a heavily laden cart appeared over the op- 
posite side of the hill, and was guided towards 
the building. 

"All right, go ahead," called the same voice, 
and again we started on our way. Looking 
backward as we passed beyond the mill, I 
caught a glimpse of the open court-yard dimly 
lighted by the rays of a lantern. On the 
[227] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

ground lay masses of mud-stained human 
forms, while a soldier and a white aproned 
doctor were gently lifting limp bodies from the 
cart, the toll of the day's battle arriving at the 
Dressing Station. 

On our downward path we were obliged to 
make room, even in the very narrow roadbed, 
for a long line of stragglers, — men who having 
been slightly wounded, were dragging them- 
selves, and helping others to the Poste de Se- 
cours. 

Our next halt was on the very outskirts of 
the coveted city. The Gendarmes once again, 
and for the last time, examined our papers. 
We had almost reached our goal and I was 
exultant. 

"Go on in", were the final injunctions, "But 
no further than the Place de la Bourse. Mind 
what I say." 

In less than ten minutes our auto came to a 
halt at the spot designated, and a sentry came 
up to see who we were. 

"No vehicles allowed to circulate after dark", 
was his reply to the questions put by my chauf- 
feurs. Reluctantly I climbed down and bid 
my drivers good-bye. 

[228] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 



"It's not far now, I'll proceed on foot." 

"Hold on a moment, Madame", called the 
sentry. "Where are you going?" 

"To Madame Macherez's." 

"Why that's half a mile from here, straight 
down towards the river front." 

"I know it." 

"Have you got the pass word?" 

"No." * 

"Well then you won't go twenty yards. You 
know it's after ten o'clock. Nothing but 
officers allowed in the streets." 

My heart fell into my boots. Here was a 
predicament. Should I ask to be driven back 
now that after fourteen hours of weary waiting 
I had almost reached my terminus. Never! 

"Can't one of you men accompany me then?" 

"Wish we might, but we'd be very severely 
punished if we were caught. You can't 
monkey with rules in war time." 

I replied I supposed such was true, and 
stood there helpless, wondering what on earth 
I should do. 

"Why don't you go to the hotel for the 
night?", suggested another soldier who had 
come upon the scene. 

[229] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEIiCY 

"A hotel?", I said out loud, "Didn't know 
there was one! Is it open?" 

"Never been shut to my knowledge, has it 
Louis?" 

"No." 

"How can I get there?" 

"Oh, it's only across the square. I'll be glad 
enough to go that far with you." 

Through a thick layer of sand that deadened 
the sounds of our footsteps but made walking 
most uncomfortable, we trudged over to the 
Hotel du Soleil d'Or. As far as I could per- 
ceive in the darkness, the place had suffered 
little or none in spite of the many bombard- 
ments, and I said so to my companion. 

"That's because you can only see the out- 
side — not the in!" 

I was obliged to take his word for it. I 
would have time to verify in the morning. 

We knocked at the door. In response we 
heard a long angry growl. 

"Who's there?", called a man from within, as 
he laid his hand on the latch. 

"I'm bringing you a guest. I'll vouch for 
her. You can take her in." 

The door whisked open, an arm stretched 
[230] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

out and grabbed me. A second later I stood 
inside, face to face with the proprietor of the 
hotel, who as sole means of lighting a large 
vestibule, held in his hand a tiny oil lamp. To 
his wife who came hurrying up the corridor, I 
introduced myself, and recalled a visit during 
the very first days of the war. 

"Yes, I believe I do remember you. Would 
it be impolite to ask you what brings you here 
now?" 

I explained my mission which they thor- 
oughly comprehended. 

"Plenty of time for that to-morrow morn- 
ing", said the woman as I finished. "Come 
right upstairs. You're probably as tired as we 
are. It's been so noisy we haven't slept a wink 
for two nights. Have you had anything to 
eat?", she inquired as she led the way to a room 
on the first floor. 

"Not very much", I admitted. I was hungry. 

The woman went to the railing and called 
"Celine, Celine". 

"Out, Madame" 

"Make a ham sandwich and bring it on a tray 
with a glass of milk to number six, at once, 
please." 

[231] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

That sounded tempting, and certainly most 
luxurious under the circumstances. 

I sat down on the edge of the bed in a humble 
hotel room, whose immaculate scrubbed floor 
and spotless coverlet were its only redeeming 
features. I began to remove my boots. 

4 'I'm sorry we can't make a fire, but natu- 
rally it is forbidden. The house is very damp." 

I said I would not remove my underwear. 

"That's perhaps more prudent in case the 
bombardment should recommence during the 
night." 

"How far are we from the German lines, 
here?" 

"About eight hundred yards!", was the calm 
and casual answer from this woman who spoke 
of the enemy just as the proprietor of a Swiss 
summer Hotel indicates the direction of a cele- 
brated glacier or mountain peak. 

The sandwiches appeared on a tray, and as 
I consumed them I plied my hostess with ques- 
tions. When they had disappeared she took 
her way towards the door. 

"Look here", said I as she was about to re- 
tire, "I see that you have a heavy pair of cur- 
tains pulled over each window." 
[232] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 



"That's to prevent the light ..." 
"I know, but after I've put mine out, may I 
part them for a breath of air? I promise not 
to do anything foolish." 

"Promise me, won't you, because you know 
it's very serious. A ray of light from this 
window would not only get me arrested as a 
spy by our own people, but probably mean 
bombardment by the enemy who is always 
watching out for some signal or other. I 
hardly think you'll need to open them", she 
continued, "They're as much to prevent air as 
light. There isn't anything but a hole in the 
place where the windows used to be." 

I pledged myself to obedience and she left 



me. 



All of a sudden and in spite of the bitter cold, 
I suddenly felt a drowsiness settling on me. 
I finished a hasty toilet and climbed into bed. 

When just dozing off, mid the most com- 
plete silence, a sharp rap on my door roused me 
to a sitting posture. 

"Come in", I called. 

In response to my summons Celine turned 
the knob and entered. I noticed that she car- 
ried a wash basin in her hands. 
[ 233 ] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"In case it might rain again", she explained. 
"You see there is no roof left on this end of the 
house and it would be very disagreeable to 
paddle around in the wet tomorrow morning." 
Setting the basin in one corner of the room she 
departed. 

Five minutes later I was sound asleep. 



[234] 



IX 

Suddenly I found myself sitting up in bed 
rubbing my eyes. The room was pitch dark. 
I only had a very vague notion of where I was. 
Had I dreamed it, or was that horrible noise 
a reality? 

A long ghastly, screeching sound rent the 
air. Whizz Br.ng ! ! 

The detonation came from my immediate 
vicinity. It rocked the house, and a strange 
clattering unlike anything I had ever heard 
before arose from the street, just below my 
window. It was as though some one were 
dumping a load of stone and bricks from the 
roof across the way. Still not a human voice 
was heard ; not a cry of any kind. 

Whizz 

Instinctively I drew the covers around me 
and snuggled closer to my pillow. 

When the shell burst I could hear hurried 
steps in the corridor and a loud tapping on my 
door. 

"Madame, Madame, wake up!" 
[235] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 

As though anyone could sleep with such a 
tumult. 

"Madame, Madame, make haste, the bom- 
bardment is beginning again. We're all going 
down into the cellar.' ' 

I stretched out my hand towards the night- 
table where I had laid the matches. As I was 
about to strike one, I recalled my promise and 
remembered the curtains were open. It was 
not until that moment that I fully realised 
where I was, and under what conditions. 

Groping about in the darkness I found one 
stocking. The other, where could it be? Ah, 
at last. Presently I slipped into my corduroy 
skirt, and throwing my heavy motor coat about 
my shoulders, opened the door and stepped into 
the hall. 

The voice that aroused me had continued its 
rounds in the corridor, and evidently the hotel 
was full of guests, for it still went on calling 
even after I had ventured as far as the head of 
the stairs. Below on a table I could see a little 
oil lamp flickering miserably, sending out puny 
rays of light that only half dispelled the dark- 
ness. 

At the sound of steps approaching from be- 
[236] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

hind, I turned about and beheld the dishevelled 
proprietor of the hotel, candle in hand, followed 
by a half dozen masculine figures hastily but- 
toning on the different parts of their attire as 
they hurried forward. It was the most ludi- 
crous nocturnal parade I ever hope to behold. 

"Swine", murmured a demure looking officer 
while vainly fumbling for his trappings. 
"Why couldn't they hold off for an hour or 
two ! This is the first night's sleep I've had in a 
month!" 

Two others, civilians, said nothing, but evi- 
dently accustomed to the ways of the enemy, 
speedily made themselves presentable. 

Single file we walked down a long flight of 
stone steps leading into the cellar. I doubt if 
many Americans appreciate what a fortress 
such a place really is; perhaps more so nowa- 
days since learning through the newspapers 
that life and occupations in cities like Soissons 
and Rheims have been conducted almost en- 
tirely underground during incessant bombard- 
ment for nearly three years. The cellar in the 
Hotel du Soleil d'Or was no exception to the 
rule. Dug deep into the ground, say twenty or 
twenty-five feet below the level of the street, 
[237] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

it had been built to preserve an even temper- 
ature for fine wine, and was admirably suited 
for a refuge from the enemy's shells. Daily as- 
saults having become customary, at the end of 
a short time the proprietors decided that guests 
who cared to risk their lives by stopping at their 
inn, ought to be allowed to finish their night's 
rest in peace. Accordingly the red plush cov- 
ered benches from the cafe had been brought 
down stairs and stood in place along the wall, 
a row of iron tables in front of them, indicating 
that one could obtain anything he cared to 
order, just as above. 

A green shaded brass chandelier illuminated 
by a kerosene lamp, hung from the middle of 
the vaulted ceiling, while a stove whose pipe 
extended out through the coal hole into the 
street, was kept gently burning during the en- 
tire Winter. 

In little stalls bricked on either side, and in 
which the different kinds of wine are usually 
kept, quite separate from each other, beds had 
now been set up. The Germans had drunk 
this cellar dry of wine during the twelve days 
they had occupied the city, early in September, 
1914. 

[238] 




ENTRANCE TO THE TRENCHES NEAR 
THE PONTNEUF, SOISSONS 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

It was towards one of these beds that the 
proprietress led me, assuring me that I need 
have no fear, and that it would be wiser to sleep 
since I was so tired. She drew a curtain across 
the front of the little stall in order to convince 
me that it was quite private. 

But I had no desire to sleep. My teeth were 
chattering a bit with cold and emotion, and the 
bombardment continued to rage without, grow- 
ing every moment in violence. 

I took a chair and seated myself by the stove. 
Two officers had not spurned the offer of beds 
and retired almost immediately, while a couple 
of civilians opened the board, shook the dice, 
and began a game of back-gammon, while in a 
few moments a bright-eyed, clean shaven little 
old man brought out a pack of cards and asked 
the proprietor to join him at Piquet. 

All at once, mid the most fearful crashing 
racket, every person in the room breathed forth 
a prolonged and grateful sigh ! Ah ! 

I looked at the proprietress for an explana- 
tion. 

"Our guns have begun firing. They've prob- 
ably just got the range." 

She was right, the sounds were now quite dif- 
[239] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

ferent, and the players went on with their 
games, the anxious wrinkles gradually disap- 
pearing from their brows. 

What peculiar satisfaction, I thought, as I 
pictured the astonishment of my friends when I 
would recount the details of a night spent in 
a cellar with the French and German armies 
trying to annihilate one another almost imme- 
diately above my head ! 

"This is the way we have been living for over 
four months now", explained the proprietress 
pulling her chair nearer to mine. "At the be- 
ginning it seemed awfully queer, but now we're 
used to it we don't mind a bit." She had 
brought some mending and was busy plying 
her needle as she talked. 

"Does it pay to keep open?" I asked quite 
anxious to engage her in conversation. 

"Oh, yes indeed! Why what would a big 
city like Soissons be without a cafe? When 
you set out to serve the public you can't always 
think of yourself first," was Madame Poirot's 
simple, philosophical reply. 

"We've been particularly fortunate", she 
continued. Up until now we've never been 
closed, and all the other hotel keepers have been 
[240] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

literally shelled out of business. Of course, we 
have not come off without a knock or two, but 
that's nothing. Our stables have been com- 
pletely demolished but we have no more horses. 
So what's the odds?" 

A detonation more violent than anything we 
had yet heard burst on the air, and even Ma- 
dame Poirot halted before taking another stitch. 

"There, they've begun shelling the hospital 
again", said she, turning her eyes in the direc- 
tion of the gamesters. 

"No, not quite so close", returned one of the 
civilian players without putting down his dice 
box. "That's only the station. Hospital next 
time, and our turn next." 

Madame Poirot resumed her sewing, and 
with it the thread of her story. I must admit 
that her calmness annoyed me a trifle, and I 
paid little attention to what she was saying, 
being more interested in verifying the elderly 
gentleman's prognostics. 

The second crash came! Closer and louder 
than its precedent. 

"Now, am I right?", asked the old man 
shrugging his shoulders. "Was, or wasn't that 
the hospital?" 

[241] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MKKCY 

Madame Poirot nodded her assent and con- 
tinued her work. 

With a strange numb feeling in my limbs, 
and a sudden dryness in my throat, I awaited 
the third arrival. 

A long, low, winning sound, then a thud that 
made everything sway, and finally a tearing, 
rattling din that forced me to duck my head 
unconsciously, and even caused the other occu- 
pants of that cellar-cafe-salon to cease their 
various occupations and look at each other with 
surprise. At the same instant a noise as of 
shelves of china and glass being precipitated to 
the ground, greeted our ears. 

"Dufayel's again", remarked the same old 
man. "That'll give 'em work for the next week 
to come. You'd think the Bodies knew they 
spent all their time fixing up the damage after 
each bombardment. That's the sixth time this 
Winter." 

"Seventh", corrected Madame Poirot. 

"Good Heavens, Madame", said I as soon as 
I could collect my wits. "How can you live 
here under such nervous strain?" 

"And pray where would Monsieur le Prefet 
sleep every week when he comes if we were to 
[ 242 ] 



MY HOME IX THE FIELD OF MEBCY 

dose up and go away? And who'd take eare of 
our regular boarders?" 

Argument seemed futile. Now that the ten- 
sion was over, my nerves relaxed and the 
warmth of the stove presently set me nodding. 
As my head pitched forward I caught myself, 
and with a supreme effort sat up straight on my 
chair. 

My movements, however, had not passed un- 
noticed hy the old servant Celine, who from the 
very beginning had been calmly peeling pota- 
toes in the opposite corner of the room. 

"It's almost over, Madame", she called. 
"They're bursting in another quarter alto- 
gether. Pretty soon you'll be able to go up- 
stairs and finish your night in peace." 

"Hope to Heaven you're telling the truth", 
enjoined the officer who had bemoaned his 
broken rest. 

"You'll see I'm right sir, in a few moments." 

We had not long to wait, the firing became 
more and more distant, so gathering my posses- 
sions together I started up the stairway. On 
the first step I was halted by the touch of a 
hand on my arm. 

"I beg your pardon, Madame, but I forgot 
[ 248 ] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

to ask whether you would have coffee or choc- 
olate for breakfast?" 

When at length I awoke much refreshed, I 
could hear a great gabbling of female voices 
just below my window. Looking out I caught 
sight of some two score of women, who, market 
baskets on their arms, were gathered together 
discussing the events and disasters of the night 
just passed. 

"You can't prevent it", explained Madame 
Poirot when I came downstairs. "Monsieur 
le Prefet has threatened to lock them up — the 
military authority has warned them that any 
gathering is likely to draw fire from the enemy ! 
Huh ! do you think they mind ? They're so glad 
to be alive that they've just got to stop and talk 
about it, and nothing will ever keep them from 
it." 

As I tranquilly sipped my chocolate, the 
proprietress informed me that fortunately 
there was no civilian death to deplore, and after 
paying my bill, I started immediately in quest 
of Madame Macherez. Since the Germans 
had occupied her Chateau on the right bank, 
she had elected domicile in her son's home, just 
[244] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

opposite the City Hall, and scarcely a hundred 
yards from the river. 

As I passed through the cafe on my way out, 
I could see that in spite of the early hour, busi- 
ness was nourishing. There was even a game 
of billiards well under way. 

In the courtyard Celine was sweeping up a 
quantity of debris, and grumbling as she 
worked. 

"What's the matter?", I asked. 

"Matter", she snapped back. "How on 
earth's a person to keep a place looking respect- 
able with those dirty Boches knocking stuff 
about every night? I've used up three brooms 
this year ! I don't know what Madame Poirot 
will say if I ask for another one just now!" 

The street, though not deserted, hardly pre- 
sented its peacetime aspect. Once or twice a 
woman with her market basket could be seen 
coming or going, but what lent the greatest 
animation was some fifteen or twenty soldiers 
busily engaged in neatly piling up the wreck- 
age that had been plunged there during the 
night. The thoroughfare at all times must be 
kept free for the passage of troops. 

One store in every five was open, while across 
[245] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

the shutters of others was written the words 
"Dwelling Inhabited". Most of the shops, as 
well as little outdoor counters, showed displays 
of fresh vegetables or dry groceries, while 
others, such as the Bazaar distinctly demon- 
strated the proximity of the troops to whom 
this "Big city" must have been a paradise. 
Only wrist watches, engagement rings and ac- 
cordions were on exhibition. 

The walls in either side were literally covered 
with posters and public notices, dating before, 
during and after the German invasion. One 
which I halted a moment to read particularly 
impressed me with the tyranny of the Hun 
towards children and their mothers. 

Half a block further down I smiled as I 
caught sight of a white chalked sign which 
read — 

"Safety cellar for the troops in case of bom- 
bardment. 

Safety cellar for civilians also. 

Key to be obtained on demand from Ma- 
dame Lebe — 61 Faubourg de Rheims." 

That Avenue was nearly half a mile distant ! 

Pursuing my course down the long Rue du 
Commerce, I finally came to the public market, 
[246] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

which though covered with glass, had yet mirac- 
ulously escaped the enemy's shells. As I 
looked across the square I caught sight of ten 
or a dozen soldiers hobbling or limping, while 
behind them military nurses pushed little two- 
wheeled handcarts, whose contents were cov- 
ered by a bit of canvas. 

"Wounded on their way to the hospital," a 
kindly soul informed me, easily recognising 
that I was a stranger. 

A moment later a soft swishing sound as of 
someone crushing a large piece of taffeta silk, 
made me suddenly look above me. A sharp cry 
of alarm rang out in the street, and sent hu- 
mans, like rats, scurrying to their holes. 

I had barely time to step into the first shop, 
whose open door offered shelter, when with a 
bang and a crash, a German shell burst on the 
other side of the city. 

"Good morning, Madame", cooed a little 
gentle white-capped woman, by way of wel- 
coming me to her store. 

"They're at it again", said I indignantly, al- 
most ignoring her salutation. 

"Madame is not from Soissons?" 

"No, but the suburbs." 
[247] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Ah, this is rather a bad time to have come 
to town. But you needn't be afraid here, my 
little back room is as safe as any cellar." 

"How long do you suppose they'll keep it 
up?", I demanded, fully realising how inane 
was such a question, but putting it merely for 
want of something better to say. 

"Ah, that I couldn't tell", was the polite 
reply. "I've heard that if they continue this 
much longer the city will have to be evacuated. 
It isn't safe, even for a hospital at present." 

"Shall you go if they do?" 

The old woman shook her head. 

"Who would take care of my pets if I did?", 
said she, stroking the head of a fine Gordon 
setter, and motioning to an alley-way where 
from a half dozen bird cages the occupants sent 
forth a cheerful twitter. 

"No, no", she continued half aloud, half 
soliloquizing. "I'm an old woman now. My 
husband's buried in the cemetery here. These 
are all I've got. I couldn't leave them. I'd 
surely die without them." 

The sight of a blue uniform followed by 
another, and then another, drew me to the door 
in spite of the imminent danger. Indian-file, 
[248] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

rifle in hand, a company of soldiers was literally 
scraping the walls on either side of the street, 
rushing rapidly in the direction I had been 
headed. Their intrepidity stirred me to do 
likewise. I had enough of waiting around, I 
should be absent a week at this rate. 

Decidedly the bombardment was increasing 
in violence. It was now or never. The old wo- 
man had guessed my intention. 

"There isn't much danger, Madame. If you 
stay on the side opposite where the shell strikes, 
there isn't any danger at all!" 

Just what the opposite side might be, I 
didn't take the time to ask. Throwing her a 
hasty adieu I started running down the narrow 
side walk much as had done the soldiers a few 
seconds before. I never had been calmer in all 
my life, but obeying a natural instinct for pro- 
tection, I could not resist reaching back to turn 
the bottom of my motor coat over my head and 
shoulders. I was sufficiently master of my feel- 
ings to realise that this was much in the order 
of the ostrich and the sand-heap as far as real 
reasoning was concerned, but it afforded me an 
infinite sense of security, and helped me to span 
the remaining hundred yards that lay between 
[249] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

the door I had just abandoned, and the Public 
Square opposite the Rue du Coq-Lombard. 

It was with a decided sense of relief that I 
turned into the little narrow street just as our 
guns sent over the first morning's greetings to 
the Bodies on the opposite side of the Aisne. 

Whizz! Whizz!! 

I fairly jerked the bell cord from its socket. 

The measured tread of sabot clad feet slowly 
crossing the court-yard irritated my over- 
strained nerves. 

Whizz — Boom! 

I could hardly wait until the door opened. 
At last I breathed again! For though no more 
protected from the rain of shells than I had 
been during the past twelve hours, the idea of 
having successfully attained my goal, blotted 
out any other feelings. 

I followed the maid across a square paved 
court, and was ushered into a small drawing- 
room, where save for the fact that the window 
panes had been replaced by paper, nothing in 
the world would have made one think that the 
German trenches were scarcely five hundred 
yards distant. 

Each thing was in its place, not a speck of 
[250] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

dust to be seen, and over on a small table near 
the light stood a tiny vase filled with Winter 
flowers. It was here I was received by Ma- 
dame Macherez, the woman whose name, 
coupled with that of Mademoiselle Germaine 
Sellier, has long been on the tongue of every 
man and woman and child in all the broad land 
of France. She and her companion are na- 
tional heroines, long since decorated with the 
War Cross for bravery; honoured by the 
French Academy with the Prix Audiffred, and 
now on the threshold of the fourth year of the 
war, it is wonderful to think that they have 
stuck to their posts, caring for the wounded, 
ministering to the sick, through a thousand 
days of constant bombardment. So long as 
the annals of Soissons survive, their names will 
be graven thereon in letters of gold. 

Time and events have on several occasions 
procured me the privilege of visiting them 
since my hurried call on that momentous morn- 
ing preceding the Battle of Crouy. I have al- 
ways found them in the same dwelling, gradu- 
ally reduced to two rooms, with nothing but 
smouldering ruins in place of the majestic 
buildings that once surrounded them. 
[251] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MEKCY 

Yet demoralisation is unknown. A faith- 
ful servant serves meals regularly on a spotless 
linen cloth. The centre piece at no matter what 
season is always ornataented by a bouquet 
(token of gratitude from some soldier or civil- 
ian) and though oft times we have been obliged 
to take our coffee in the cellar, we have never 
ceased to laugh in derision of the Bodies who 
hoped to spoil our appetites. 

Of medium height, portly in demeanour, 
with snow white hair and piercing blue eyes, 
Madame Jeanne Macherez, the widow of our 
former senator from the Aisne, is a woman well 
over sixty years of age. 

In direct contrast is the svelte figure, high 
colored oval face and flashing black eyes of her 
companion, Mademoiselle Sellier, a young wo- 
man still in the early twenties. 

The outbreak of the war found Madame 
Macherez, President of the Local Chapter of 
the Association des Dames Francaises (French 
Women's War Relief) which, however, had 
been a leading charity for civilians for many 
years past. 

With Mademoiselle Sellier as secretary and 
companion, she organised any number of hos- 
[252] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

pital units sent directly to the front, and up 
until the last of August, 1914, busied herself 
with the ever increasing number of wounded 
occasioned by the great retreat. 

On August thirty-first, a Government de- 
cree ordered every valid man between the ages 
of fifteen and fifty to evacuate the city to es- 
cape capture by the oncoming German hordes. 
Likewise all persons holding office were invited 
to decamp, taking with them their books, 
papers and other valuables. 

This practically emptied the place of men, 
but it was astonishing the number of women 
and children that remained. 

Quickly realising the gravity of the situation, 
Madame Macherez saw that, invasion or no in- 
vasion, something must be done to forestall the 
dilemma of those who had been left behind. As 
the only remaining official of any kind, she 
betook herself to the town hall, and it was there 
before closed doors that the German com- 
mander awaited her pleasure on the entrance 
to the city, September 1st, 1914. 

"We want the Mayor", was the brutal de- 
mand, as the woman opened the door. 

"I'm the Mayor", was the simple reply. 
[253] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

The officer was nonplussed but quickly re- 
covered. 

"This is no time for pleasantry, Madame. If 
what you say is true we shall deal with you as 
with a man." 

"After what they say you do to women, I'd 
just as soon you would," was the prompt cour- 
ageous answer. 

The officers pretended not to understand and 
lead the way through the empty offices, audibly 
expressing their disgust at finding them all 
empty of their precious papers. After install- 
ing their men in the vacant places at the end 
of a short time, Madame Macherez was pre- 
sented with a paper. 

"Here is the list of what we wish to levy 
upon the city. Since you and your companion 
have volunteered as officials, we shall consider 
you as hostages, and if what we have asked for 
is not delivered here in the public square by 
five o'clock this evening, both you and she will 
be shot!" 

Mademoiselle Sellier goes on to tell how 
Madame Macherez calmly adjusted her spec- 
tacles, and not in the least unnerved by the 
threat, proceeded to scan the paper from top to 
[254] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

bottom, making pencil notes on the margin. 
She read and reread it several times. Then ris- 
ing she went over to the officer, and in the cool- 
est manner possible proceeded to inform him 
that there was just one thing he had forgotten 
on his list. 

"And what may that be Madame?" 

"The moon", was the daring reply which 
startled the man who could hardly believe he 
understood aright. 

"It would be just as easy for me to procure 
you the moon or stars", the woman continued, 
"as to reply with my life for such provisions 
as you demand. Believe me sir, I have lived in 
this city sixty years. I realise that in normal 
times it might just be possible — but consider- 
ing that hardly a valid man remains, it were 
hopeless to think of obtaining half you ask." 

The officer realised her sincerity, and not 
being a fool, asked what she might suggest. 

"I propose that you allow me to make a list, 
which will be a personal appeal to every citizen 
in my city. You shall verify and I will sign it, 
and in an hour's time every bill-board in Sois- 
sons shall bear witness of my willingness to pro- 
tect my compatriots by serving you." 
[ 255 ] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

Her advice was carried out, and needless to 
say, long before the appointed hour the little 
Square in front of the City Hall was piled high 
with the spoils that war gave an invading army 
the right to levy on humble French toilers. 

Among my trophies to-day is a much 
weather beaten poster which I soaked care- 
fully from the wall during my last visit, and 
shall always cherish as a remembrance of a 
French woman's courage. 

Inch by inch she wrestled with the obnoxious 
invader, ceding her rights only under the men- 
ace of instant death, and never hesitating to 
say frankly what she thought of their barbaric 
ways. 

It is little wonder then that she is adored by 
the entire civil population for whose welfare 
she risked her life. On the return of our glori- 
ous troops she took her mission of mercy among 
them as quietly as though nothing had hap- 
pened, untiring in her efforts to procure them 
the necessary comforts. 

Up until the last few weeks (June, 1917) 

real hospital work has been almost impossible 

in the martyr city, but the refugees, who as 

stragglers or in bands, have been returned to 

[256] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

our territory through gradual or monster offen- 
sives, all know the way to the Rue du Coq- 
Lombard, and all are unanimous in their praise 
of its lone inhabitants. 

Such was the woman who greeted me on that 
cold January morning. 

"Delighted to see you, Madame Huard, al- 
though I imagine that it is dire necessity which 
procures me the pleasure. What made you 
choose this day of all days? Everything leads 
us to believe that a big battle is beginning, and 
I have just received orders to evacuate my hos- 
pital in the college. The civilians may possibly 
be obliged to go too." 

I explained my mission. 

"Yes, surely, you can have all our tobacco 
now. Come over to the College at once and 
we will make arrangements for your return 
trip." 



[257] 



X 






What a mad dash we made to reach the Col 
lege. The shriek of shot, and screeching of 
projectiles as they passed none too far above 
us, made it impossible to hold one's head erect. 
Shrapnel pattered like rain upon the roofs, 
while without the slightest warning shutters 
and chimneys would disintegrate and fall into 
the street before us, blinding us with the debris. 
As each new detonation announced the depart- 
ure of a heavy shell we would flatten ourselves 
against the wall, clinging there in terror until 
a few seconds later we realised that our last 
moment had not yet come. 

Most of the firing seemed to be aimed at our 
unfortunate Cathedral, which stood broadside 
to the enemy, though from the clouds of dust 
that arose after each explosion, one could tell 
they had fallen wide of their mark, doubtless 
annihilating some minor building completely. 

The courtyard in the College presented a 
wild scene of animation. A shell had just 
fallen in the very centre smashing an ambu- 
[258] 



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CALM AMtt) THE GENERAL TtJMULT 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

lance and digging its way into the ground so as 
to form a crater. On every side other cars 
were backed up and being filled with white 
faced wounded men whom the infirmiers 
carried out on stretchers and thrust into the 
vans. 

Officers, calm amid the general tumult, stood 
and verified the contents of each ambulance, 
which as soon as filled was cranked up and 
rushed out of the city. 

Another shell had exploded in the Chapel, 
and half a hundred men were vainly struggling 
to save their comrades, who pinned beneath the 
wreckage, were shrieking with pain and de- 
spair. 

Madame Macherez looked worried, and in- 
deed there was cause. I almost regretted hav- 
ing come for my presence had only added to her 
anxiety. 

"Follow me", she said gathering her skirts 
about her md hurrying down the long hall. At 
the very end she turned abruptly and entered a 
darkened room which seemed surrounded by 
cupboards. 

"Where's Gilbert?" she demanded of an In- 
firmier who hurried past the door. 
[259] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Caught in the Chapel," came the reply, as 
the fellow sped on his way. 

"Stop", cried the woman imperiously. The 
man obeyed. 

"Get me two men with guns to break in these 
doors. Gilbert probably has the keys on him 
so it's useless to wait." 

As we stood there neither of us spoke and the 
roar of battle even drowned our thoughts. I 
feel certain, however, that neither she nor I 
had the slightest fear. We were merely 
anxious to accomplish our tasks as rapidly as 
possible. 

The soldiers appeared, and in spite of the 
gravity of the moment I could not help re- 
gretting the circumstances that made necessary 
the destruction of those wonderful oak panelled 
doors. It was particularly distressing to have 
to do it ourselves when the Germans had al- 
ready caused so much damage. A spark of 
anger kindled in my breast at the apparent joy 
with which the soldiers set to their task. 

In a short time mid splinters of oak a hole 
revealed the neatly packed tobacco. 

"Go and ask Albert for four canvas bags, 
ration bags, and don't be gone an hour", or- 
[260] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

dered Madame Macherez. The wreckers dis- 
appeared returning promptly with the sacks. 

"Now then, pile them full", said she, desig- 
nating the tobacco to the soldiers, who lost no 
time complying with the request. 

"You can't possibly get away with more than 
four", explained my companion. "As it is I 
can't quite see how you're going to get away 
at all, but then . . ." 

We retraced our steps in the corridor, the 
soldiers dragging behind them the bags which 
they had firmly closed by a bit of string. 

The same excitement was prevalent every- 
where as the evacuation rapidly progressed, 
but to the din was now added the lamentations 
of the civilians who were being hurried into 
huge ten seated motors drawn up below the 
College wall. The Sous-Prefet was on the 
spot to see that all obeyed orders, but his pres- 
ence did not diminish the cries of those who had 
but a moment's warning, and were given no 
time even to collect even their most precious be- 
longings. 

"Where are you sending us? How long 
shall we be away!", wailed one woman with a 
baby on her arm. 



[261] 






MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Freddie's gone for the milk, can't leave 
without him. He's my only child," shrieked 
another. 

A young girl and a very old woman ap- 
peared bearing a cripple in their arms. The 
tears were streaming down the old woman's 
face. 

"No animals allowed", growled a sentinel as 
an elderly woman sought to take her place with 
a bird cage and a cat. She climbed down and 
walked away. 

In one corner a couple silently bid each other 
adieu. The man remained behind. 

"En avant, en avantf\ urged the soldiers. 
"Push up now, .there is room for another. 
Never mind if you're crowded. The essential 
is to get away." 

The car started only to be replaced by an- 
other. 

Madame Marcherez after a moment's parley 
with the Sous Prefet came back to where I 
stood. 

"Quick", said she turning to the soldiers, 
"Hoist those bags on to the front seat", and 
then to me. "This goes by way of Chateau 
Thierry. They'll drop you there." 
[262] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

I grasped her hand and a second later clam- 
bered into my seat, along with forty other 
weeping, vociferating humans. 

The engine sputtered and slowly we left the 
scene of desolation, which was repeated again 
and again at every street corner, on every 
Public Square until we had left the city of sor- 
row far behind. 

As the morning advanced the occupants of 
the bus grew calmer, all save an auburn haired 
girl who sat next to me, had regained their 
natural state. But the poor child's shoulders 
heaved and heaved, and her suppressed sobs 
told of her distress. 

"What's the matter?", I queried gently, lift- 
ing her head from her damp handkerchief. A 
pair of big brown wistful eyes set in a pink and 
white baby face, looked up in wonder at my 
question. 

"I couldn't find mamma to say good-bye, she 
won't know what has become of me." And the 
tears flowed afresh. 

"Where are you going?" 

"I don't know." 

"Have you no friends or relatives elsewhere 
than Soissons?" 

[263] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"No." 

"How old are you?" 

"Sixteen." 

"Have you any money?" 

"Not a centime. I didn't even have time to 
take my warm coat." A shiver ran up and 
down the child's back. I unfastened my muf- 
fler and wound it around her neck. 

"But what shall you do if you are dropped in 
some strange place?" 

"I don't know. Seek work or starve!" 

The case was exceedingly pathetic. 

"Have you ever worked before?" 

"Oh, yes, my mother taught me how. I used 
to help Madame Macherez." 

Ah, here at last was a bond between us. A 
new light came into the girl's frightened eyes as 
I told her I knew our common friend. 

"I don't live far from here, would you come 
home with me, and help in my hospital? It's 
little I can promise." 

"Gladly, Madame." 

"Very well then, get down at Chateau 
Thierry when I do." 

The cannonade, which had redoubled in force 
together with the arrival of the first omnibus 
[264] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

filled with dishevelled refugees, had created 
much excitement in Chateau Thierry. On 
leaving Soissons something had happened to 
the machinery of our car, and it was well into 
the afternoon when we crawled into our hos- 
pital centre. The crowd gathered round the 
motor pressing each one with questions. 

"Where are they taking you?" 

"We don't know. Somewhere out of the 
army zone without doubt." 

"Has the whole place been evacuated?" 

"Yes . . . no." 

"And our men, are they holding the front? 
A few moments ago it seemed as if the noise 
was advancing in this direction. Do you think 
they'll break our lines? It won't be another 
retreat of the Marne will it?" 

The Prefet elbowed his way through the 
crowd, and was astonished to see me step from 
the motor. 

"I've adopted this child," said I pointing to 
my shivering companion. "There's no reason 
why I shouldn't take her home with me, is 
there?" 

"No indeed. Have you got your tobacco?" 
Yes." 

[265] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

"Good." 

"May I ask you to telephone for my cart to 
come and fetch me." 

"Surely." 

Our horse had been sent on an errand to La 
Ferte and for five hours Marcelle and I sat 
and waited in the dingy hallway of the pre- 
fecture, the four huge sacks of tobacco being 
the only things that consoled me for the time 
lost. As night came on the booming of the 
guns became more and more intense. A fright- 
ful battle must now be raging, and I trembled 
for Madame Macherez and her brave helper. 

Weary of inaction I went and stood on the 
Public Square where our 'bus had halted, eager 
as were the others for news from those who had 
left Soissons since my departure. 

"They've cut the dykes." 

"The whole of St. Vast is flooded. The city 
is in flames." 

This and other similar encouraging informa- 
tion spread through the crowd and made us 
shiver. 

The drive in our rickety old farm cart 
seemed interminable, and I was surprised at 
finding no one to greet me on my return from 
[266] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

so perilous a journey, so depositing my new 
maid and the tobacco in the kitchen, I hastened 
to the wards, when a glance showed me why my 
nurse had not been able to leave for even a 
second. 

"The sound of the guns has crazed them. 
Some one started a panic by shrieking the Ger- 
mans had broken through our lines. They 
imagined they'd been forgotten." 

From the next room a hoarse voice called 
out — 

"Are you all deaf boys, can't you hear? 
They're bearing down on us, don't let's stay 
and be slaughtered. If I lead will you follow? 
Where are our guns? Who's taken my shoes?" 

All during the night we went from bed to bed 
comforting and consoling, arguing and affirm- 
ing that of which we ourselves were none too 
sure. 

Two days later the papers announced the 
victory of our arms at Hill 132. 

Weeks sped by and nothing further seemed 
to mar the regularity, or particularly enliven 
the monotony of our hospital routine. 

With plenty of tobacco and the days grow- 
[267] 






MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

ing longer and brighter the lads seemed to 
grasp themselves more firmly, to be more will- 
ing to make a fight for their existence. From 
what I could learn the epidemic itself was now 
well in hand, and we would probably be allowed 
to keep our patients through their convales- 
cence later on. 

Several changes took place in our domestic 
staff. The Heavenly Twins being now con- 
sidered fit to join their regiments, left us mid 
the general lamentations of the entire hospital, 
both promising to abandon their former careers 
to return and work for us at Villiers when the 
war should be over. 

This set Barbarin to thinking, and in a burst 
of emotion he confided to me that he had had 
enough of the "Free life", and would now be 
content to enter the domestic service as major- 
domo, or head butler to some kind American. 

The calm after a storm told swiftly on my 
physical condition and I realised I had been liv- 
ing on my nerves. I was pronounced a fit sub- 
ject for the operating table, and to my dismay 
was informed that it was not at home, but in a 
private hospital in Paris that my annoying ap- 
pendix was to be removed. 
[268] 



MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF MERCY 

I had planned my departure so as to disturb 
no one, but when the motor that had called for 
me at a little side gate passed over the bridge 
onto the main road, I looked back and saw them 
all standing on the steps waving me a fond 
Adieu, and for want of something more appro- 
priate shrieking, 

"Vive la France." 



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